Someone Like You
by ibshafer
Summary: In the end, Kurt got everything he wanted out of life and Dave fulfilled his own dreams, so why aren't they happy? A chance encounter in NYC brings the boys together again after many years. Can they help each other deal with their pasts and their futures
1. Chapter 1

**Story:** Someone Like You – 1/8

**Fandom:** Glee – Written for the Kurtofsky Reverse Bang  
><strong>Author:<strong> ibshafer  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R – for language and non-explicit sexual situations  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Kurt, Dave, Blaine, "OC" Gwen

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these people, they own themselves and are just nice enough to let me spin them around the page now and then.

**Summary:** [Written for the kurtofskyrebang using jennybliss's art and story concept.] In the end, Kurt got everything he wanted out of life and Dave fulfilled his own dreams, so why aren't they happy? A chance encounter in NYC brings the boys together again after many years. Can they help each other deal with their pasts (and their futures) and finally figure out what they truly need to be happy?

**Length:** 30,000+

**Literary License #1:** One scene in this story takes place at a Barney's Warehouse sale in New York City. For the purpose of the story, I have – incorrectly, I know – set it at Barney's 5th Avenue location (it's a Central Park/Kurt-and-Dave special place thing) even though I know the Barney's Warehouse is actually on 17th Street. Apologies for bending geography (or whatever it is I'm bending) to my will for the sake of a story. ;)

**Literary License #2:** Mention is made of Industrial Age photographers Bernd and Hilla Becher (who are really wonderful and worth looking up if you're into photography!), but while I state that Dave in fact met both Bernd and Hilla at a lecture in Berlin, this is not possible since Bernd passed away in 2007. I'm sure no one will care about this but me, but in the interests of accuracy, I had to mention it. :)

**Literary License #3:** I have combined the art installations of DIA:Beacon and the Storm King Art Center, whose collections enrich the lovely Hudson Valley in which I live – but are on opposite sides of the Hudson… .org/ .org/ (I LOVE ART!)

Someone Like You – 1/8

_~ibshafer_

_Sometimes the rumors are true…_

[SECTION BREAK]

That fall seemed to be inordinately filled with rumors, more so than the usual number circulating through New York's social elite – and the army of assistants, housekeepers, caterers, and hairdressers that supported them…

There was the one about the handsome young Broadway heart throb who might not have been as gay as he wanted people, especially his husband, to believe…

Or the one about the brilliant and beautiful entertainment attorney who might, or might not, have been cheating on her long-time fiancé with one of her clients…

There was a particularly scandalous story concerning an up-and-coming fashion designer who, if the outrageous rumors were true, was actually contemplating a gender switch, presumably to keep his purportedly bi-curious lover interested…

And there was a rumor about a talented young architect, a recent transplant to New York who arrived with his well-heeled fiancée from the mid-west via Los Angeles; a handsome young man who on the surface was every inch the very picture of a heterosexual man, but who, in point of fact, was anything but…

Perhaps the most interesting rumor of all was the one that, despite its unlikely participants, seemed to carry the weight of truth because said participants had been observed, caught in the act, as it were, by any number of people.

The rumor had it that these two men who had nothing in common but their home town, who weren't even in the same zip code sexually, who barely spoke the same language culturally, were nonetheless quite smitten with each other…

Make what you will of rumors. Some are the very height of absurd, an art form all their own, bearing not even the faintest hint of truth.

And sometimes, even in the face of absurdity, a kernel of reality remains.

_Sometimes the rumors are true…_

[SECTION BREAK]

Kurt Hummel got everything he'd ever dreamed of; a life in the theatre, a swanky New York apartment, and the man of his dreams.

He'd gotten it all.

Of course, that life in the theatre wasn't quite the one he'd envisioned when he and Rachel Berry had fantasized their way through senior year back in Lima, Ohio, and the swanky apartment, while indeed swanky, was one in which he was more often than not, alone. (Well, after the housekeeper had left for the day, anyway.)

As for the man of his dreams, while you could definitely say that Kurt had him, often, the only real evidence of that was the occasional Page Six blurb and the dozen or so lovely framed photos of them together, smiling and happy (and younger), that were neatly and artfully set out on the mantels in every room of their swanky apartment.

If that was what constituted All, then yes, you could say Kurt had, indeed, gotten It.

He knew he shouldn't complain and he rarely did. It might not have been exactly what he was hoping for, all those years ago, but he did have a wonderful life. He was grateful for the things he had. The dreams of his frivolous youth seemed naïve in the full light of adulthood.

And yet, even now, when he had accomplished so much, when he had so much in his life that was right and good, he couldn't help but look back on those naïve dreams and wonder if things could have been different.

[SECTION BREAK]

After graduating with honors from NYADA, the harsh reality of the Broadway audition circuit had hit Kurt like a ton of bricks. For all his talent and training, for all the years spent beefing up his resume in regional theatre, and the thousands of dollars spent on vocal coaches, for all the ease with which he could now, at the drop of a hat, easily morph into straight-guy mode, his complexion, his bone structure, his freaking _breathing _patterns, belied all of that; casting directors still saw him as "too gay" for most roles. (Blaine Anderson, the aforementioned love-of-Kurt's-life, had faced no such stigma when he'd burst onto the Broadway scene eight years ago, in spite of being no less gay than Kurt.)

After years of chorus lines and the occasional clichéd gay part, Kurt had had enough.

He applied to FIT and was accepted into their costume design program, completing the BFA in two years with his liberal arts credits from NYADA.

Five years later, after having been nominated for a Tony for his work on last year's revival of "Cabaret," Kurt Hummel was a much sought after costume designer. He was, indeed, very happy with his career; it was one that embraced him as fully as he had always, all those years ago in the teaming bucolic hallways of McKinley High, embraced _it_, back when he was creating cutting edge, avant-garde looks daily and calling it _personal expression_…

He'd be lying, though, if he said he didn't miss performing; singing and dancing had always been as natural a form of personal expression as his couture.

Kurt _worked_ in the theatre, he shared his life with one of its most celebrated, his best friend in the world, the incomparable Rachel Berry, was yet another of its shining stars; he had ample opportunity to experience the thrill of performing vicariously through the talented people he loved and worked with. It wasn't as satisfying as being on the stage himself, of course, but he hadn't forgotten his father's sage advice; one day he would _write_ the perfect role for himself.

Most of the time, he was too busy to indulge the jealousy. His days were filled with production meetings, costume research, fabric shopping, and endless sketches, fittings, and critiques. When he had free time, which was rare, he spent it with friends, or, on the rare occasion their schedules meshed, with Blaine, whose own life was filled to brimming with rehearsals, performances, and the promotional work for whatever show he was in at the moment. (Currently, the role of Michael Novatny in the musical adaptation of "Queer as Folk.")

For two people who shared their lives with one another, they saw blessed little of each other. Sadly, such was the nature of the (Broadway) beast. Then again, the same could be said of any two people with busy careers and lives of their own.

Kurt was used to having to compete for Blaine's time with his "groupies." Back at Dalton he'd had quite an entourage. At McKinley, that posse had dropped to just one or two, with one being Kurt himself, and he'd enjoyed having the nearly unlimited attention of his boyfriend. But when Blaine had joined Kurt and Rachel at NYADA a year after they'd arrived, and later, when he'd won his first audition – he replaced some obscure television actor as the lead in "How to Succeed in Business Without Even Trying" – it became clear he would, again, have to compete for Blaine's time. In addition to the usual hangers-on – friends, acquaintances, moochers – the young star's entourage now included his manager, his personal assistant, a bodyguard (hired for Kurt's safety, too, Blaine had said, but when were they ever together?) and recently, an attorney, on hand to broker a possible Hollywood deal for him.

Kurt didn't begrudge Blaine the trappings of his success – he was talented and had worked hard to gain them – he was only saddened that with so many people clamoring for a piece of Blaine Anderson, there was less and less of Blaine Anderson to go around…

Which was how on a rare day notable for its three adjacent hours of free time, Kurt was out shopping alone at a Barney's Warehouse sale, and how he got into a tug-of-war over the very last plum cashmere scarf in the store – only to find a familiar pair of hands on the other end…

[SECTION BREAK]

People considered David Karofsky a lucky man.

They said he had everything anyone could want; an exciting career, a fabulous home, a beautiful and loving fiancée.

If you asked Dave, he would indeed tell you that his career as an architect was an exciting one. And though Dave was not one to brag, (he'd given up the macho posturing when he'd left McKinley High), he would not deny that his home was very much the text book definition of "fabulous."

He also would not deny that his fiancée was both gorgeous and that she loved him, often to distraction.

These were the trappings of a successful life, the kind of life the society he lived in told him he should want. They were, in point of fact, the things he had told _himself _he wanted, that he had ground into himself all those years ago when he was trying to convince himself that he was just like anyone else, just like any other kid/boy/guy growing up in this world.

They were the things he believed he would someday have.

That is, until that day in junior high, when a strange, pale boy in tight pink jeans skipped across the athletic field and changed his world forever…

[SECTION BREAK]

It was the last thing that anyone would have suspected about Dave Karofsky – maybe the second to last thing – but it was true nonetheless.

His week in "the arts," that fateful pairing of the glee club and the football team, barely registered as a footnote in Dave's life story, and yet in spite of his blink-and-you'd-miss-it performance, despite how vehemently he'd deny it to your face, Dave Karofsky was actually a very talented actor.

He'd had to be.

When he'd first realized Kurt Hummel's tight pink jeans were affecting him in a wholly unexpected, and unwanted, way, he'd had no choice but to act like he was disgusted – repulsed by the kid's obvious "gayness." He carried that homophobic bully act on into high school and it was a persona he kept up quite convincingly until that one fateful afternoon when his anger, fear and confusion ran up against an equally pissed off brick wall by the name of, yes, Kurt Hummel – and that illusion was shattered.

Either by virtue of some gay solidarity thing or Hummel's own strong sense of right and wrong (for which Dave would always be grateful), Hummel never told anyone what he knew about Dave, at least, not anyone important, annoying hobbit boyfriend notwithstanding.

It was still unnerving _knowing_ that someone, someone who had every right to make Dave's life a well-deserved living hell, knew the truth he was still trying to hide, but as the weeks stretched on and the Mighty Hand of Doom hadn't smote him down, Dave reached a kind of equilibrium, the "Fury" act intact, if somewhat muted. (Scowls, OK. Slushies, not OK.)

It was a credit to the strength of his past performance that people believed that Dave Karofsky the Jock was still the straight boy he'd always pretended to be, even when he put on a red satin jacket and a beret and played the role of protector of McKinley's downtrodden; even then, all people saw was a repentant bully.

Still, it was hard for him to maintain; the number of people who knew the truth seemed to grow daily.

Then came their disastrous junior prom and his sad-faced, whining, _"I can't…"_ after walking down the runway with Hummel as though he were _going _to dance with him…

And he really didn't have any other choice. The only way to save the lie was to leave.

After his transfer to Carmel High, it was easier to feign straight. The only rep that preceded him was that of football badass and he had no Hummel to confuse or distract him. If there were other gay kids at Carmel – and there had to be, right? – he did not notice. He studied hard and played hard…and kept his eyes to the floor when he was in the locker room. If it weren't for his weekly trip to Scandals, Lima's lame-ass gay bar, he might not have made it through senior year. He didn't…well, he didn't _do _anything while he was there, except talk to a few of the guys, but it was a relief, once a week, to not have to pretend to be _any_thing. (Except for of legal drinking age, that is.)

So, even though he'd still had to be careful to not forget himself, to not let his guard down or do anything that might raise suspicions about him, it was still a relatively easy senior year. He was still lying, yes, but at least he didn't have to see Kurt Hummel's supportive, yet judgmental face every day, didn't have to feel pressured to do anything, say anything, be anything he wasn't ready for yet.

And he promised himself; once he got to college, _things would be different._ He wasn't going to wake up one day and shoe-horn himself into a pair of skinny pink jeans, but he was going to leave himself open to…the possibilities. Ohio State was a big school in a big, big city. Columbus was known to be nearly as diverse as New York was. Dave might not have been ready to wave a rainbow flag, but he knew he was apt to see others who were, and if he felt he could be accepted, if he felt comfortable, well…who knew?

His first semester in school was a hectic one, filled with the experiences of a first-time college student; Dave was too busy to think about being attracted to anyone, let alone giving in to or fighting that attraction. And busy as he was, he was also pretty damn happy for the first time in he didn't know how long.

He'd made it! He was out of Lima-freaking-Ohio.

There at OSU, he had the opportunity to fulfill two life-long dreams; he was accepted into the School of Architecture and he made the football team.

_Dave Karofsky was an Ohio State Buckeye!_

Not far into the semester, he sadly came to the realization that he couldn't juggle the two – architecture and football – and as much as it pained him, his suffering grades told him which one had to go.

For a blessed while, there wasno need to keep up the act.

He was just Dave Karofsky, busy freshman, keeping up with his classes, making friends, guys _and_ girls, and he didn't need to be anything beyond that.

He met Greg O'Keefe at the start of his second semester in his first real architecture class, Intro to Design, and they bonded over the endless reading assignments and bottomless black coffee. If he felt anything for Greg in the beginning, it was the relief of making his first _real_ college friend. Greg was a stereotypical straight-guy college student – he wore flannel shirts and high-top sneakers, he listened to Linkin Park and Pink Floyd, he watched football games and he drank beer. In short, Greg was just like Dave. (Except in that one, all-important way.)

Dave didn't immediately start crushing on his friend. That would have just seemed wrong. Plus he'd never quite gotten Kurt Hummel's pale skin and slim hips out of his head and if he were forced to admit to a type, Hummel would clearly have been "it." As the semester progressed, though, and they spent more and more time together, Dave couldn't help but feel something for his friend.

Greg was outgoing and funny and popular. Taller than Dave, he was lean and blond. By everyone's assessment, particularly the girls they met, Greg O'Keefe was _hot._

But…but Greg was also Dave's buddy, the guy who helped him memorize the umpteen architectural styles created since the dawn of mankind, the guy who cleaned him up after he disastrously mixed tequila and schnapps and nachos at the Delta Pi Spring Fling, the guy who let him beat the pants off of him at Call of Duty at least once a day, even though they both knew Greg was unstoppable.

Dave would never have said anything, never done anything, to risk losing that, especially when he was still so unsure of himself. He may have come a long way since high school, but he barely had a toe out of the closet – and really, wasn't Scandals just an extension of that closet anyway? Making a move on his straight best friend was the last thing a neophyte like Dave was going to do, and so he played the part of the dutiful friend and let on not a thing about what he might really be feeling.

Maybe that was why what happened surprised them both so much…

The semester was over and Dave's roommate was already gone. Dave's dad was coming up from Lima in the morning to get him, and Greg, who wasn't leaving for another day, had come over for one last evening of pizza and Xbox. Naturally, there was beer, and naturally, there was macho crowing over game losses and wins, which led, just as naturally, to name calling and good-natured, drunken wrestling. But when that wrestling resulted in some…unexpected realizations, what happened next surprised them both.

It wasn't unusual to pop a boner from wrestling with a friend, it happened to guys all the time, and Dave would have laughed off the embarrassment of it but for two things that happened in quick succession:

Greg immediately got hard, too, and then…he leaned in and kissed Dave suddenly on the mouth.

For a frozen second, Dave didn't know what to do, he couldn't breath, he couldn't think. And then it was like a switch had flipped in his head; moving on pure instinct, he grabbed Greg's face, hands deep in Greg's hair, and kissed him back with the full force of months and months of buried want.

What followed next was frantic and awkward and ultimately amazing. They fell asleep where they landed, in a heap on the floor, and the next morning, when Paul Karofsky arrived with the mini-van, that's where he found Dave; a little confused, a lot hung-over, and completely alone.

Somehow he made it through that day, stopping after each load to the car to text Greg, but he never heard back from him – not that day or any other.

And, in August, when he got notice from the school that he'd been assigned a new roommate for the fall – he and Greg had planned to share a room – Dave knew he'd never see his friend again.

Something awful had settled into his gut as they drove home from school that day and now, with the reality of it in black and white in his hand, Dave felt himself more than just slipping backwards towards that closet, he felt himself running headlong for it.

He could not help thinking that he was the one that had fucked this up. He was the freak. He was the loser. He was the one that had misread the signals, that couldn't even pull off being gay right.

Of _course _Greg hadn't meant it.

He'd been too drunk and too brainless to realize what they were doing, that's all. And Dave, with his hands on his friend, _finally,_ had taken that fucking ball and run with it.

All Dave could see was how toxic he was. He'd made Kurt Hummel run away. Fuck, he'd made him_self _run. And now? Now he'd freaked out his best friend in the world, scared him away, made him transfer colleges or worse, drop out. He'd fucked up the life of someone he really cared out.

He was shit. He was dog shit.

So Dave shut himself off. He pushed all his friends away, those from home and especially those from school – anyone that knew Greg and might ask where he was. He could think of no other way to protect himself, short of transferring to a new school, and he just refused to be _that_ much of a coward again.

If people were talking, he didn't hear anything. Or rather, he didn't overhear people talking about what might have happened to Greg, only those muttering about _"that asshole, Karofsky!" _or wondering when Dave had become such a jerk…

And so Dave crawled back into the closet, closed the door, and resigned himself to being a loner and a loser.

(Albeit a loser earning six figures if he kept his nose in his books…)

He was halfway through grad school when a petite brunette sat herself down next to him in the student union and started chattering away like she'd known him all her life.

Dave had been living his life in the vacuum of no-friends for over three years now and while he'd become accustomed to the silence of his own thoughts spinning in his head, the not unpleasant sound of someone else's voice was actually a relief.

And so he let her talk. And when she showed up the next day and plopped down next to him again, he let her talk some more.

He learned a lot of things over the next few days.

Her name was Gwen Reynolds and she had just finished a law degree. She was prepping for the bar and planning to go into entertainment law. She loved film and theatre, but had no talent of her own. That's why she wanted to work with actors.

Her father was some big-time industrialist who came from money and then made a fortune of his own. She had no siblings – she was perfect, she said, so her parents had seen no need for more kids.

She was used to getting whatever she wanted whether her daddy got it for her or she got it herself. She'd looked him right in the eye when she'd said that, and though that should have been Dave's first clue and should have sent him running, he just sat there, too drawn in by her charisma and her intensity to leave.

He wasn't attracted to her like a guy would be attracted to a girl, but he couldn't deny it was nice to be sought out again, to be the focus of all that intensity. That she didn't know about his past or about the mountain of baggage he dragged around with him (and he'd thought all of that was obvious, but maybe it wasn't?), was more than a little _freeing_.

She seemed to like him despite the perpetual scowl he wore, despite the pallid skin and the paunch his all-study lifestyle had spawned, and she looked at him like no one else in his life ever had but the one he'd buried even deeper than Greg O'Keefe – though an arched brow and a smirk and some bizarro costume floated unbidden through his head even as he fought the memory.

And that was how Dave Karofsky, whose life had become a string of No's, let Gwen Reynolds, who never took the Word for an answer, into his simple and complicated life…

tbc…

10


	2. Chapter 2

**Story: **Rumor Has It /Someone Like You – 2/8

**Fandom:** Glee – Written for the Kurtofsky Reverse Bang  
><strong>Author:<strong> ibshafer  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R – for language and non-explicit sexual situations  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Kurt, Dave, Blaine, "OC" Gwen

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these people, they own themselves and are just nice enough to let me spin them around the page now and then.

**Summary:** [Written for the kurtofskyrebang using jennybliss's art and story concept.] In the end, Kurt got everything he wanted out of life and Dave fulfilled his own dreams, so why aren't they happy? A chance encounter in NYC brings the boys together again after many years. Can they help each other deal with their pasts (and their futures) and finally figure out what they truly need to be happy?

**Length:** 30,000+

**Literary License #1:** One scene in this story takes place at a Barney's Warehouse sale in New York City. For the purpose of the story, I have – incorrectly, I know – set it at Barney's 5th Avenue location (it's a Central Park/Kurt-and-Dave special place thing) even though I know the Barney's Warehouse is actually on 17th Street. Apologies for bending geography (or whatever it is I'm bending) to my will for the sake of a story. ;)

**Literary License #2:** Mention is made of Industrial Age photographers Bernd and Hilla Becher (who are really wonderful and worth looking up if you're into photography!), but while I state that Dave in fact met both Bernd and Hilla at a lecture in Berlin, this is not possible since Bernd passed away in 2007. I'm sure no one will care about this but me, but in the interests of accuracy, I had to mention it. :)

**Literary License #3:** I have combined the art installations of DIA:Beacon and the Storm King Art Center, whose collections enrich the lovely Hudson Valley in which I live – but are on opposite sides of the Hudson… .org/ .org/ (I LOVE ART!)

Rumor Has It /Someone Like You – 2/8

_~ibshafer_

[_From the previous part…_]

_She seemed to like him despite the perpetual scowl he wore, despite the pallid skin and the paunch his all-study lifestyle had spawned, and she looked at him like no one else in his life ever had but the one he'd buried even deeper than Greg O'Keefe – though an arched brow and a smirk and some bizarro costume floated unbidden through his head even as he fought the memory._

_And that was how Dave Karofsky, whose life had become a string of No's, let Gwen Reynolds, who never took the Word for an answer, into his simple and complicated life… _

[SECTION BREAK]

"Fancy?" Another tug on precious double-ply cashmere. "Is that _you_?"

Kurt had been called many things over the years, not all of them flattering, but in that long list of oft-repeated clichés lay one that had only been used by a single person and only during a memorably painful period of his life.

Karofsky.

_Dave Karofsky._

Steel-blue eyes sprang to the far end of the plum scarf he was holding to find a tall figure in a finely cut black wool coat, brown curls and arched brows floating above broad shoulders and…

"D-david?"

For a second, Kurt flashed back to the one misspent evening of his youth; a dim and dingy club, drunken dancing (not his), and a meeting, just as unexpected as this one, that was both a revelation and a relief.

He hadn't seen that face, blushing just as shyly now as then, in over twelve years, and if the brow and the smile hadn't been so familiar, he would hardly have recognized it now.

Biting back the "_Wow…_" that was just begging to be uttered, he went instead with the simpler, "Who's _'fancy,'_ now, eh?" not bothering to stifle a giggle at Dave's eye-roll response.

"Well, you know…" Dave said, self-consciously slipping his hands, which were clad in black lambskin, into his pockets. "I haven't figured out a way to take it with me, so…"

Kurt laughed, taking a step closer, still somewhat awed that his last memory of his former bully, clad head-to-toe in denim, had been so spectacularly transformed into this Armani-wearing, flawlessly groomed, wonderful-smelling…

_Is that Clive Christian?_

"Who _are _you," Kurt whispered, unable to contain his astonishment any longer.

He reached out to run a finger over the cashmere of Dave's sleeve, shivering with pleasure at the sensation, then pulling away slowly as he realized what he was doing.

He'd shed his discomfort with touching and being touched the minute he'd gotten to New York and finally found himself in the company of Real Gay Men, but that didn't mean it was always appropriate.

"Sorry, David," he said, hoping for nonchalant, but knowing his damned pale skin had probably blown his cover.

Dave shrugged a half-smile, a familiar gesture rendered anew by the wondrously grown-up, polished version of the "Fury" standing before him.

Folding up the now freed scarf carefully, Kurt presented it to him.

"It's yours," he said, holding it aloft. "It suits your skin tone better anyway."

He watched as that skin tone deepened to an even redder shade.

"Oh, it's…um, it's not for me," Dave said uncomfortably.

Kurt had a moment of irrational satisfaction at the thought he might have actually had a hand in helping Dave towards the happy, fulfilled life he clearly now had as a gay man…and then Dave was looking away, uncomfortably.

"It's for my fiancée," he said softly, obviously realizing that that simple statement was perhaps the most shocking thing to, thus far, come from this exchange.

Kurt was dumbstruck, something that was laughably rare for him.

The person Kurt had been in high school would have been appalled to learn that Karofsky, despite his progress, despite the good start he'd made when Kurt had known him, had obviously still found reason to go back into the closet, but Kurt had grown up a great deal since coming to New York, enough to know that he didn't know everything.

As Kurt watched, something indistinct passed across Dave's face. It took Kurt a moment to recognize it – it had been so long since he'd seen it – but there it was.

_The pain. _

Fiancées, custom made Italian suits, and $2000-a-bottle cologne notwithstanding, all was not right in the world of Dave Karofsky.

He was turning to leave, scarf in hand, when Kurt grabbed his arm.

"What's your hurry," he asked as casually as he could. "Have time for coffee and catch-up?"

David hesitated for a moment then looked at his watch.

"Yeah, um, a little," he said softly. There was some sort of internal conflict going on inside Karofsky; if he wanted to leave, then why had he spoken to Kurt in the first place?

_Seriously, why?_

With his bargain hunt goggles on, Kurt probably wouldn't have noticed _Liza _if she'd come in to steal a tie… And Dave was so wholly changed, Kurt felt certain he would very likely have just thought _"pretty man, yum, shoulders"_ and gone on with his browsing none the wiser.

Chewing his lip for a moment longer, Dave let out a sigh.

"Sure, why not?" Softening some, he rolled his eyes in mild annoyance. "I just have to be home by four," he said, "to walk the dog." He seemed put-upon, but not entirely unhappy about it. "Housekeeper's day off."

"Tell me about it," Kurt laughed. "Ours refuses to do it. If I'm not back at the appointed hour, the furry little ingrate leaves a present for me in my boudoir…" He sighed. "If I'd won that coin toss, we'd have a tankful of sea monkeys instead…"

Was it his imagination or did the mention of a _"we"_ throw a shadow over Dave's face?

_And did he always have such cheekbones?_

Kurt nodded to the sales clerk, waiting patiently behind Dave.

"Pay and we'll go. There's a Starbucks just around the corner."

Dave hesitated for the briefest second, then, as if used to taking orders, he nodded and turned to hand the scarf to the clerk.

_What is happening inside that man's head? _

Even as he wondered about what had led Dave Karofsky to this clearly complicated life he was leading, Kurt was unable to keep his eyes off the man's retreating back, unable to curb his appraising eye. (He _was_ a costume designer, after all, accustomed to measuring the male form by eye.) The familiar shape was there all right – broad shoulders, long torso, solid legs – but the years (and no doubt, a good personal trainer) had rendered them sharper, more defined.

_Perfected._

He had no reason to be "looking," and really, he was _only _looking, but could he help it if there was so very much to be looking _at_?

Dave Karofsky had grown up quite well.

In another life, a life in which there may had _been _no Blaine, who's to say how things would have turned out?

For a fleeting moment, a thread of guilt twisted in Kurt's belly, but he dismissed it.

He was only appreciating the changes in an old friend, after all, and they _were_ friends, weren't they?

[SECTION BREAK]

Dave couldn't lie, at least not to himself.

_He was happy to see Kurt._

No matter how Dave's life had turned out, no matter the regrets he might still have had, he couldn't deny that Kurt Hummel had had an impact on him. Nor could he deny that the man's face sometimes appeared to him out of the blue, as if to remind him of the things in his life he'd screwed up; what he could have had if he'd been more mature, if he'd been more ready...

Over the years, he'd often wondered what Kurt had done with his life. Had the world been better to Kurt than the halls of McKinley had been? Had he made his Broadway dreams come true? Had that prep school kid really turned out to be Kurt's dream guy? _(Really?)_

Some of these questions had been answered for Dave well before their chance meeting at Barney's this afternoon, but he had no intention of revealing that or how he'd known.

Still, as much as he was genuinely pleased to see Kurt, any further contact with the man would certainly complicate Dave's already complicated life, stir things up that were long since settled. As resigned as he was to his life, and honestly, it wasn't a bad one even so, the last thing he needed was to start thinking "that way" again; that he could have that life, be that person.

He was annoyed with himself for letting the surprise of seeing Kurt there, older and changed, but still able to stop Dave's breath in his lungs, make him lose his composure. It had put him in a difficult position. He would much rather have noticed the man from across the room, observed him in silence for a few stolen moments (high school all over again), and then retreated from the shop to disappear into New York's multitudes, hopefully never to run into him again. Knowing what Dave _did _know about Kurt's life, as surreptitiously as he'd come to know it, gave him a small leg-up in that. But Dave _hadn't_ been paying attention, hadn't been watching his emotions, and it had just slipped out.

"_Fancy? Is that you?"_

There was no escaping this now.

It did cross his mind that he could fairly easily fake an unforeseen meeting. He was, after all, a busy architect. But truth be told, he _wanted _to talk to Kurt, even if only to be subjected to the perfection and joy that must be the other man's life. (Because Dave _did _know a few things about Kurt's life, after all…) Perhaps Dave needed to hear about Kurt's life – so he could finally understand it was a life he could never have.

And so Dave had hastily put together what he prayed was a good plan.

Thirty minutes polite conversation, Dave's well-rehearsed elevator speech (_"Hi, I'm Dave Karofsky. I'm an architect at Spillman and White. I specialize in urban renovations and modern country retreats…")_ and they would have parted ways, good for another decade or so, any last vestiges of Dave's "other" self well and truly squashed…

He hadn't intended to tell Hummel anything, let alone launch into some big explanation of how Dave had come to be standing there before him, buying an expensive cashmere scarf for the woman he was engaged to marry.

To be fair, Kurt hadn't exactly asked for an explanation; further proof that they were no longer in high school. McKinley Kurt would have been all over that extra "e" (_fiancée vs. fiancé) _like white on rice.

Still, Dave had a life anyone would be proud to have. He had nothing to explain or justify.

_So why are you even thinking about it, Dave? _

_Guilty conscience?_

He hadn't _planned_ to do anything more than have a half hour's superficial conversation with an old classmate. Easy peasy, right? He'd schmoozed enough clients in the last eight years to have the act of not really listening/not really saying anything down to an art form.

That had been the plan, anyway.

And then Kurt had started to _speak_…

…and Dave had been mesmerized.

Dave was accustomed to looking at the world with a technician's eye; when you remove the emotional and extraneous from the structural, you're left with the logical, something that can be drafted and examined from different angles for flaws or improvements. It was a methodology he'd learned well in college, one he'd further learned to apply to his life. It was how he dealt with things he…otherwise might not have wanted to.

His girlfriend, for one.

Dave Karofsky had finally run up against something, some_one,_ that defied logical analysis.

_Kurt Hummel._

Impossibly delicate hands flying and dipping (and damn, but his drafter's eye never let him miss even the smallest detail), dimpled chin rising, then pointing, eyes wide open or, alternately rolling to emphasize some salient point, the man made simple conversation seem more like performance art.

Thirty minutes stretched to an hour and Kurt continued to talk, unaware of the time. (Neither was Dave, at this point.)

Kurt worked on Broadway as a costume designer. (He was actually quite the star there, but Kurt's modesty – and since when was Kurt Hummel modest? – had kept him from mentioning the Tony nomination, something Dave knew but didn't let on.) He missed performing, but loved what he did.

He and Blaine were still together and they shared a fabulous apartment in the San Remo. (An apartment Dave was itching to get his hands on; the San Remo was legendary amongst architects.) They'd had some rough patches, but all was well now. His impish grin seemed to conflict with the pinched wrinkle between his brows.

Then it was Dave's turn…

Again, as planned, he'd intended to just rattle off his standard two-minute _"this is me" _monolog, but Kurt had completely destroyed Dave's composure – and the polished business demeanor that had long ago replaced his growl-first-think-later response system.

Dave's guard was down, hard, and so when Kurt threw out the biggest curve ball of the day, it short-circuited the last bit of control he had.

"_So, David, did you date at all in college?"_

Such an innocent-sounding question and yet Dave found himself wholly incapable of responding.

He just sat there, eyes wide, on the verge of falling into the abyss that was Greg O'Keefe, and he couldn't think of a single, smooth word to say; all those years of sidestepping the questions, of pretending those five months had never happened, that _night _had never happened; all the work he'd put into erasing the feelings, excising the experience – and the guilt – from his memory, and one question from one person (and who was he kidding here? Kurt Hummel would _never_ be just a person to him) sends the whole wall to falling?

Dave was still struggling to put syllables together, wondering if he could get away with not answering at all, when Kurt reached across the table and grabbed his wrist. Dave was preparing himself for an unwelcome sympathetic squeeze when Kurt turned Dave's wrist sharply so he could read the time on Dave's polished Rolex.

And then he was suggesting they go retrieve their respective dogs and meet in the park in thirty minutes.

Dave could have said no, but somehow, the words wouldn't come out of his mouth.

In fact, _no _words came out of his mouth.

Face hot with the embarrassment of actually Being Seen (as in, Kurt had _seen through him_), Dave merely nodded. He even waved back in response to Kurt's _"See you soon!" _as he headed down 5th Ave. to the Shelly.

He had no idea what he was going to say, but if his lack of emotional control over the past five minutes were any indication, he was likely to just blurt out the whole awful story.

And while the thought made him sick to his stomach, there was a part of him, a tiny part that had been mute, mute and _holding its breath_ for the past eleven years (since the moment Dave had woken up alone that morning), that was letting out a tentative sigh of relief…

[SECTION BREAK]

They met at the Bow Bridge in Central Park, each slightly out of breath, each with a small, furred bundle of energy preceding them.

For Dave, it was a sable-coated miniature collie he called "Jesse" though he admitted the dog's true name was something long and absurd and totally inconsistent with the yapping, crapping furball the dog usually behaved like. (_"'Heritage Run's Little Lord Fauntleroy,' my ass…"_) For all the complaints – and the pseudo-macho show he made of his annoyance – he and the dog definitely had an understanding and some real affection. (At one point, a large German Shepherd set the small dog to barking madly and then, just as quickly, to cowering behind Dave's strong legs for safety…)

Kurt was at once disgusted with and proud of the delicate white poodle, also miniature, that pranced from the end of a black velvet leash – with matching rhinestone-studded collar and vest – like a show dog in the ring. As it turns out, that's exactly what "Fiyero" had been in his day. Kurt refused to divulge the dog's registered name, for fear the little mop, coat now a relaxed puppy-cut tumble of cream waves, would hear him and his true dog-diva attitude would re-emerge. He and Blaine had bought Fiyero from his owner after the dog had been retired from the ring and from breeding and it had taken Kurt and Blaine months to break the dog of it.

Once the dog-introductions were done, they both seemed returned to that awkward stage, as if they hadn't just spent the last two hours together.

Dave filled the silence, chatting easily about the history and design of Central Park, surprising Kurt with his knowledge of its origins. He confessed, with a faint blush, that Frederick Law Olmsted had always been a hero of his. For a time, he said, he'd considered landscape architecture as a vocation, having loved the National Parks he'd seen as a child on family vacations, but then he'd toured Frank Lloyd Wright's masterpiece, Fallingwater, during a Spring Break trip his freshman year. Kurt had noticed a slight hesitation when Dave got to this part of the story, the shadow of something – a bad memory, perhaps – pinching between Dave's brows, but then the man was describing the forest surrounding the home and the way its strong lines and cantilevered terraces ran counter to the falls that spilled beneath it, and Kurt could see the true passion that inspired him, something it gave Kurt chills to realize for some odd reason.

They walked the park with no real purpose for a while, content to let the dogs get acquainted – and they seemed truly thrilled with each other, though Fiyero was clearly the dominant – until Dave complained of a stiff knee, an old college football injury, he said, and asked if they could rest for a while.

The specter of the word (_college…_) hung in the air for a time between them, and then, pulling a knee up onto the wooden bench so he could face Dave, Kurt put a hand on the man's arm, fixed him with a heartbreakingly earnest look, and asked what had happened; not with his knee, _clearly _this wasn't about his knee…

That Dave didn't stutter or backtrack or ask what Kurt had meant by the question said a lot about his frame of mind, his buried pain, and his sudden but clear wish to release that pain.

They talked forever it seemed, Kurt crying quietly through most of it, Dave freed by his own tears, and when it was done, when the story of Greg O'Keefe and Dave Karofsky's failed, only, attempt to live life as a gay man was done, they hugged briefly, meaningfully, and said good-night, walking off towards the apartments they shared with their partners; Kurt, on the West Side of the park, Dave, on the East.

They made no promises – and no plans to see each other again – but both felt relieved by the exchange. Kurt, older now and so much wiser, understood how someone else's choices, motivated by their own experiences and expectations, could run counter to what someone else – Kurt, for instance – might have thought was right; and how he had to respect those choices because _it wasn't his life_. And Dave, after over a decade of denial and the hard work of burying yearnings and pain and real, true feelings – for Kurt as much as for Greg – felt the relief one feels at letting out the breath they hadn't realized they'd been holding until their lungs (or was it their heart?) had begun to ache.

He didn't know what it meant or what he wanted it to mean, he only knew that those few hours with Kurt had been the first time in more years than he cared to remember (did it go back to that night in Scandals, a lifetime ago?) that he hadn't had to _pretend_ to be anyone or anything.

Even if he never saw Kurt again, he would always be grateful for that.

tbc…

10


	3. Chapter 3

**Story: **Rumor Has It /Someone Like You – 3/8

**Fandom:** Glee – Written for the Kurtofsky Reverse Bang  
><strong>Author:<strong> ibshafer  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R – for language and non-explicit sexual situations  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Kurt, Dave, Blaine, "OC" Gwen

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these people, they own themselves and are just nice enough to let me spin them around the page now and then.

**Summary:** [Written for the kurtofskyrebang using jennybliss's art and story concept.] In the end, Kurt got everything he wanted out of life and Dave fulfilled his own dreams, so why aren't they happy? A chance encounter in NYC brings the boys together again after many years. Can they help each other deal with their pasts (and their futures) and finally figure out what they truly need to be happy?

**Length:** 30,000+

**Literary License #1:** One scene in this story takes place at a Barney's Warehouse sale in New York City. For the purpose of the story, I have – incorrectly, I know – set it at Barney's 5th Avenue location (it's a Central Park/Kurt-and-Dave special place thing) even though I know the Barney's Warehouse is actually on 17th Street. Apologies for bending geography (or whatever it is I'm bending) to my will for the sake of a story. ;)

**Literary License #2:** Mention is made of Industrial Age photographers Bernd and Hilla Becher (who are really wonderful and worth looking up if you're into photography!), but while I state that Dave in fact met both Bernd and Hilla at a lecture in Berlin, this is not possible since Bernd passed away in 2007. I'm sure no one will care about this but me, but in the interests of accuracy, I had to mention it. :)

**Literary License #3:** I have combined the art installations of DIA:Beacon and the Storm King Art Center, whose collections enrich the lovely Hudson Valley in which I live – but are on opposite sides of the Hudson… .org/ .org/ (I LOVE ART!)

Rumor Has It /Someone Like You – 3/8

_~ibshafer_

[_From the previous part…_]

_He didn't know what it meant or what he wanted it to mean, he only knew that those few hours with Kurt had been the first time in more years than he cared to remember (did it go back to that night in Scandals, a lifetime ago?) that he hadn't had to pretend to be anyone or anything. _

_Even if he never saw Kurt again, he would always be grateful for that._

[SECTION BREAK]

The next morning found Dave with a serious emotion-hangover, struggling to make something out of the day. After so many years of repressing and denying and pretending, that few hours of un-stemmed emotional overflow had been draining; a relief, but an exhausting one.

He was ass-deep in the specs for the Rothman renovation, an expansive, multi-level co-op in the Dakota, when he heard voices in the hallway outside his office.

Voices in the firm weren't unusual, this wasn't a library after all, but there was a timbre of excitement to the tone that was just, well, _off_ – architects were, as a rule, a low-key bunch, and the voices just sounded downright…theatrical.

Glancing at his watch, Dave blew out a breath; he hadn't realized how late it had gotten.

_It's probably just the sandwich guy… _

His stomach groaning, hoping for turkey and avocado on whole wheat, Dave rose from his desk.

Hand on the knob, he was just about to open the door when there was the briefest of knocks, more of a quick scratch, actually, and the door flew open.

Dave and his secretary Celie, the originator of the scratch-knock, each let out screams of surprise. (Dave's was more of a bellow, if we're going to be accurate.) Breathless with shock, they stood staring at each other. Those co-workers within eyeshot, gaped into the open doorway, expressions ranging from bemusement to mild annoyance (_"damn office hijinks!"_) and somewhere nearby a woman was laughing.

"What the _hell_, Cee," Dave growled. "I thought we talked about giving me a chance to answer before you open the door."

Celie gave Dave an impish grin, smoothing her blouse as she composed herself.

"_Right,_ Boss-man," she said, nodding. "But you have a visitor. You _never _have visitors. And Gwen doesn't count, since her dad owns the building..." She grinned at him. "It's been a slow morning. I guess I got a little over excited." She bounced on her toes.

_What the…_

"Is that any way to behave in front of a client," he said, voice low as he straightened his tie and peered around the lobby.

"Oh, he's not a client, Boss. He says he's a _friend_ of yours…"

Now _that_ was odd (where was that woman and what_ was_ she laughing at?) because Dave was pretty sure he didn't _have _any friends in New York. When had he had time to _make _any? All he did was work and go to the gym. If it weren't for the occasional shopping trip…

The laughter finally stopped.

"David! Hello!"

Across the lobby at the front desk, Miri the receptionist was huddled with Kurt Hummel; it would appear they had been flipping through a glossy fashion magazine that Kurt had found quite amusing.

Dave experienced a pure moment of panic, rendered all the more confusing by Kurt's attire – baggy, faded blue jeans, a simple navy sweater (wholly devoid of any animal or mineral adornment), a worn black leather biker's jacket, and…

_Is he wearing work boots?_

"K-Kurt Hummel? What brings you here," Dave called out as casually as he could manage, what with his heart beating triple time and his stomach trying to find a way out of his body, through his feet, through his mouth – it didn't care how…

"Oh, you know," Kurt drawled, a strange flattened tone to his voice. "I was in the area and thought I'd see if you were free for lunch." He of the strange voice raised the canvas tote he was carrying, shaking it enticingly. "Picnic?"

Sure that his cheeks were going to ignite the surrounding tropical plants, Dave waved in the direction of his open office door.

"C'mon in, _Hummel_," he said, placing pointed emphasis on the name. "Lemme check my calendar—"

"You're free for lunch, Boss," Celie supplied helpfully, again bouncing on her toes. "You don't have anything scheduled until tomorrow morning, actually."

Gritting his teeth through his plastered smile, Dave pretended this was the best news ever.

"Great, just great! Thanks, Celie. You're the _best_…"

To his credit, Kurt merely watched the exchange with a bemused look on his face; no snarky Fancy-esque comments, no up-tempo Broadway tunes.

Dave clapped a hand on Kurt's manly, leather-clad shoulder and steered him into his office.

His heart was still beating like a hummingbird's and he could feel his face flushing like it was on fire, but at least behind his closed door – and thank goodness the blinds were drawn – it was only Kurt who could see. Being embarrassed in front of Kurt Hummel was old hat to him by now.

At the moment, though, he was more annoyed than embarrassed.

What had Kurt been thinking? Hadn't he heard what Dave had told him yesterday?

_Everyone in the office thinks I'm straight!_

He felt himself revving up to give Kurt a well-deserved stern talking-to – this was his _life_, after all – but when he turned to look at the man he stopped short.

"What's with your hair? It's…"

"…_boring?_" Kurt offered with a grimace, then a sigh. "Yes! Don't you get it – the hair, the clothes, these lovely dun-colored boots?"

Dave was still recovering from the shock of finding Kurt outside his office, so his intellect wasn't firing on all cylinders at the moment.

He shook his head, frowning. "Get _what?_"

Kurt's grin was triumphant as he swept a delicate hand across himself.

"Don't I look _straight_," he whispered.

Now it was Dave's turn to laugh, though to his credit, he swallowed most of it, knowing damn well the office crew was likely still lurking just outside.

"No…" he said, with a faint smirk. "You look like one of the Village People."

"_The Village-_ I'll have you know," Kurt hissed, whispering despite his pique. "That I borrowed these-" Again, the expansive gesture to his costume. "-_from an actual straight man!_"

Dave's response was a burst of air through his nose. (If he was not mistaken, that non-verbal cue was most commonly labeled as _"snerk!"_)

Dave wanted to be mad, he really did, but this was just too funny. Not Kurt's desired impact, he'd grant, but still, a welcome change of pace.

"Straight men don't invite other straight men for picnics, Fancy," he said, biting his lip and trying desperately not to laugh.

Kurt stood blinking at him for a full five seconds before dropping the bag into the trash with a flourish and swinging Dave's office door open.

"Get your rear in gear, Karofsky," he growled over his shoulder as he stomped back into the hallway. "I made a reservation at the sports bar down the street. If we're late, they'll give it to some other NASCAR fan…"

Dave was shrugging into his suit jacket, holding his black wool under one arm, when Celie, who was, indeed, still in the hallway outside Dave's office, stepped in to straighten his collar.

"Have a good lunch, Boss," she said, beaming her cute little face off. She held his coat for him as he slipped into it, then patted his shoulders.

Dave grunted in response, feeling quite certain that the "water cooler" was going to have a crowd around it for at least the next hour…

He loped off after Kurt's retreating black-leather back, all the while noting – and hoping no one else noticed him noting it – that Kurt _still _looked fabulous, ill-fitting "straight guy" clothes and all.

Once outside of Spillman and White's cool, modern offices, away from the slow-news-day crowd, Dave breathed a sigh of relief.

A few feet away, Kurt stood facing the elevator, spinning the large garnet ring on the pinky of his right hand, shoulders set tensely.

Over the years, Dave had gotten better at dealing with his emotions, not that burying them, forgetting them, or denying them was the best tack to take, but at the very least he'd learned that anger was rarely constructive. Quite often the object of your anger, the recipient of that anger, was merely guilty of making a simple mistake.

Or trying too hard.

Heart in the right place; brain on Pluto…

"Kurt," Dave said softly. He saw the man flinch, took that as a response, and continued. "I'm sorry I laughed at you. I know you were trying. I do appreciate that – _thanks_."

There was a pause and then Kurt shrugged, a second later, turning around, the corner of his mouth quirked.

"If I know anything," he said, his timbre regaining its usual lilt. "It's how to build the perfect costume." Pulling a rich turquoise scarf from an inside pocket, he looped it artfully around his neck, checking himself over in the mirrored tile beside the elevator as he did so. "Unfortunately, I've been told," he drawled, using his fingers to try to coerce some height from his hair. "It's my actual _performance_ that is a little lacking."

"No way," Dave said quickly, biting back a smirk.

"Yes way," Kurt said, his reflection winking at Dave as he stood beside him.

Watching Kurt primp in front of the mirror, remembering the understanding on his face as Dave spun the sad tale of his sad, and former, gay existence, Dave suddenly realized how very grateful he was that he'd run into Kurt yesterday. And that he was there with him now, dragging him, almost bodily, out of his office for food and company. Dave may have been, for all intents and purposes, the consummate straight guy, but it was still a relief to know that _someone _knew the whole story.

That it was someone from whom Dave would never have expected such understanding, just made it all the more precious.

"You know," he said, eyes twinkling. "I have a little more experience at…at _this_, so I can give you some pointers if you want."

Kurt folded his arms across his chest, black leather creaking deliciously.

"Such as?"

"Well, generally," Dave began with a shrug and then a slow grin. "People, straight or otherwise, don't make reservations for sports bars…"

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Kurt considered this for what seemed like an inordinately long period of time, making Dave wonder if he'd accidentally, and unwittingly, used some sort gay slang. It might have been the lighting, but Kurt's face did seem to have taken on a slightly pinker hue.

When he finally spoke, he seemed quite serious.

"All right, then how about the next time I come, I bring an actress friend of mine so we can make out on the couches while we're waiting for you…"

Unsure how to react, Dave just did his patented deer-in-the-headlights, and then Kurt was grinning and rolling his eyes at Gullible Dave.

_And yet…_

And yet Kurt's cheeks were still pink for some reason.

"So…um, this isn't a one-time deal," Dave asked, his heart beating stupidly – it was clearly pleased for some reason.

There was a pause and then Kurt shook his head, blush spreading down his neck as he looked away.

"No," he said, softly. "I don't think it is."

tbc…

[_A/N: Sorry this part was so short, but the next scene is a monster and much too long for lj_. _- ibs_]

7


	4. Chapter 4

**Story: **Someone Like You – 4/8

**Fandom:** Glee – Written for the Kurtofsky Reverse Bang  
><strong>Author:<strong> ibshafer  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R – for language and non-explicit sexual situations  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Kurt, Dave, Blaine, "OC" Gwen

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these people, they own themselves and are just nice enough to let me spin them around the page now and then.

**Summary:** [Written for the kurtofskyrebang using jennybliss's art and story concept.] In the end, Kurt got everything he wanted out of life and Dave fulfilled his own dreams, so why aren't they happy? A chance encounter in NYC brings the boys together again after many years. Can they help each other deal with their pasts (and their futures) and finally figure out what they truly need to be happy?

**Length:** 30,000+

**Feedback: **_Yes, please! _

Someone Like You – 4/8

_~ibshafer_

[_From the previous part…_]

_And yet Kurt's cheeks were still pink for some reason._

"_So…um, this isn't a one-time deal," Dave asked, his heart beating stupidly – it was clearly pleased for some reason. _

_There was a pause and then Kurt shook his head, blush spreading down his neck as he looked away._

"_No," he said, softly. "I don't think it is." _

[SECTION BREAK]

It had been a week since Kurt had bribed Pauly, the kid who handled his theatre deliveries, into letting Kurt wander through the wasteland of synthetics and superfluous denim Pauly called a closet so that Kurt could find something suitably "straight" to wear to Dave's office.

Thankfully, Dave hadn't held the marginal success of the costume against Kurt.

In fact, he and Kurt had met a few times since then – for lunch on Friday, for ice cream and dog walking in the park twice over the weekend, and today for Japanese.

Kurt was just rubbing the rough ends of his chop sticks against each other pursuant to attacking the mouth-watering and beautiful tray of sushi that had just been set before him, when Mr. I-Only-Eat-Food-That's-Been-Cooked looked up from his mound of shrimp tempura, fork poised in mid-air.

"So…I, um, need to ask you something…" Dave began, face a now-familiar shade of awkward. For someone of Dave's stature and achievement (he was the 2020 Grand Prix Award Winner for Young Architects), that blush was actually something Kurt found endearing.

To be honest – and really, who was he lying to? – Kurt was rather enjoying Dave's company. No matter how complicated their pasts were, it was nice to spend some _un_complicated time with someone who didn't need him to be anything other than who he was. And no, the irony had not escaped him. (Actually, it _amused_ him…)

For the longest time, Kurt had felt like he was just another member of Blaine's entourage – the guy who does the laundry and walks the dog and sometimes gets to have sex with him.

He saw Blaine so seldom that the love of his life had been reduced to a shadowed, snoring mound on the far side of a bed Kurt never saw him crawl into, a juicy blurb in yesterday's Page Six or this week's New Yorker. Blaine Anderson was everyone's favorite celebrity – witty, urbane, dapper, any number of words that hadn't been used to describe someone his age since long before Bing Crosby joined Bob Hope on the road to _Somewhere_…

All that was well and fucking dandy, but where did it leave the man who shared life and home with the Witty and Urbane Blaine Anderson?

No where, _that's_ where.

The boy who in high school was voted _'Least Likely to Ever be Lonely,'_ was actually Quite.

That's right – _Kurt Hummel was lonely. _

He used to have Rachel Berry, best friend and Broadway star, but since she'd landed that show on HBO (and won that Emmy) and she and Finn had moved to Los Angeles, he only saw them and his nieces on holidays, which was lovely, but was really no substitute for daily kvetching and conversation.

He used to Skype with Mercedes at least once a week, but she'd gotten married a couple years ago and between her new husband and her busy tour schedule, she just didn't have the time. When they did occasionally IM, Kurt tried to keep it light; Mercedes had worked so hard for so long and had so much in her life now that was good, Kurt just couldn't bear to spoil her happy.

Honestly, it wasn't that he was _un_happy. He loved his work, loved the loose group of friends he'd amassed, loved living in New York.

But after years and years of fighting for the same rights as everyone else, it wasn't comforting to find himself with the same _complaints_ as everyone else.

Kurt missed feeling like a couple.

He'd long ago given up attempting to extract more time from Blaine's busy schedule. The star's personal assistant, his manager, and now his new attorney, kept the man busy nearly 24/7. Kurt often wondered how Blaine had time to pee, let alone spend time with his so-called husband…

"You're not going to ask me to stop making yummy noises after every bite again, are you, Dave? Because I already told you I have no control over that." As if to illustrate, Kurt popped a tasty morsel into his mouth, chewing carefully, immediately overcome by sweet fish and tasty nori, by smooth flesh and vinegar rice, and _ohmygodthisissogood…_ "Mm-mmmm-_mmmmmm…_"

Dave rolled his eyes, gnawing on what appeared to be the largest shrimp ever dipped in tempura batter. "No, don't worry. I've given up. If Saturday's ice cream debacle wasn't enough to drive home the point that your '_yummy' _noises sound an awful lot like _sex_ noises, then you're on your own, pal."

Still chewing, Kurt stuffed another bite in. "You've got that right, _buddy._"

They grinned at each other.

Who would have thought they could ever be this comfortable with each other?

Certainly not Kurt.

While Dave took a good, long swig from his bottle of Kirin, Kurt finished his mouthful of sushi. Despite his tone – and Kurt always tried to lead with a joke – Dave had him a little worried.

The past week had been, well, it had been fabulous, but what if he'd had worn out his welcome with Dave Karofsky, as it were?

What if Dave, who for his own reasons was making a go at being straight, didn't want to spend any more time with someone who, for _his _own reasons, wasn't? What if Kurt's all-gay, all-the-time lifestyle was just too much for him?

Kurt was distressed to realize how very much it would bother him if that were true and how very much he'd come to value, to look forward to, their time together.

It had only been a week; how was it possible?

Then again, wasn't that how friendship was? One could "fall in" friendship as quickly as one might fall in love, right?

"Well, you've certainly piqued _my_ interest," Kurt said as lightly as he could manage. "What is it you need to ask me?"

His fears were not at all eased by how uncomfortable Dave was currently looking; red-cheeks and roaming eyes are never a good sign. Never.

"I just…well, this past week's been really great, but…" Dave trailed off and Kurt nearly kicked him.

_Don't stop there!_

Dave suddenly looked him dead in the eye, eyebrows pinched with worry.

"Is everything all right at home, Kurt? With…you know, with Blaine?"

_Wait – what?_

"W-wuh…" Kurt Hummel was suddenly a thing he _never _was; at a loss for words. "Why do you ask."

Dave set his fork down and leaned across the table, his expression so earnest, it near broke Kurt's heart.

"It's not that I don't appreciate all the time you're spending with me, but I _know _you've got better things to do than hang out with…" Here his voice – and his head – got even lower. "_…the Bearded Wonder_."

Kurt suddenly snorted air out of his nose then fell into a full-on giggle, not sure if it was the relief or the amusement that made him do it.

"Dave! You made fun of yourself," Kurt gasped, breathless from laughing. Heleaned forward. "More than that, you admitted that…" He mouthed _'GWEN'_ and then continued, very softly. "…_is_ _your beard._"

"I was _kidding_," Dave deadpanned. "And now I'm serious – why are you spending so much time with me? You're designing for _two_ shows right now, I hear you're curating the Costume Institute exhibit at the Met this year, you have a very tiny, very _demanding_ dog, an apartment that's a veritable showcase, and a husband that—"

"We're _not_ married."

Kurt suddenly clamped both his over his mouth so fast his _teeth_ hurt.

Dave sat there looking at him as though he'd just sprouted horns.

"W-wait a minute, I thought…you two were…" he stammered, clearly not knowing what to say.

That made two of them.

Kurt took a deep breath, considered making something up, then decided he owed Dave better. Still, he'd been protecting this secret for two years now; he had to be careful.

Sitting back in his seat, he set his chop sticks down. Fiyero was going to be one happy, happy dog tonight.

"Yeah, I know what everyone thinks," he said, voice so low it was almost a whisper. One of the other patrons walked by and Kurt paused until they were out of earshot. "They're _wrong. _AndBlaine says its best if we don't…how does he put it? _'Disabuse them of the notion.'_"

There was high color in Dave's cheeks again and his jaw was tensed.

"I don't get it. Why would he want that?" Dave lowered his voice. "Why would he want people to think you were married if you're not?" He stopped for a second, as if the real point had just made itself clear to him. "And why do they think it's true in the first place?"

Again, Kurt considered making something up. No one else knew. They all thought he and Blaine were happily hitched. He'd certainly never shared the real truth of it with anyone else, not even Rachel or Mercedes; neither of them would have understood.

Dave, on the other hand…

Seeing the waiter nearby, Kurt flagged him down and asked him for a Fiyero-bag and two more drinks – a second beer for Dave, a first for him – and then handed him a credit card.

Before the waiter could leave, Kurt also slipped him a ten spot and winked.

Kurt was a regular here; Hiro would know what that meant.

"What? I'm going to need it," he said, responding to Dave's raised eyebrow. Reaching across the table, he grabbed Dave's beer and finished it. "…and _you're_ out."

When the waiter returned, doggie bags in hand, he also brought with him two bottles of beer _"dressed for the street"_ in plain brown paper bags.

Dave looked at him questioningly, his confusion overriding his concern for the moment.

"What are you _doing_," he asked.

"You wanted to know why," Kurt said, taking a quick swig from his bottle, thankful that Hiro had opened it. "And that is _not_ a story for a crowded restaurant…"

Fifteen strained minutes later, they were in Central Park, sitting on that same bench where Dave had bared his soul – which Kurt thought was rather appropriate – and the beer was almost gone. The day was warm for fall, but still Kurt found himself shivering.

Dave reached into his coat pockets, pulling out the beautiful lambskin gloves he'd been wearing when they'd first met and handing them to Kurt.

That Dave had even noticed he was cold…

"Thank you," Kurt said, slipping his hands into them, luxuriating in the feel of buttery leather and soft cashmere. They were huge on him, but he didn't care; they were warm from being in Dave's pockets and it was almost like Dave was holding his hands.

_Careful, Kurt. _

"So, then, you wanted to hear the story of Blaine Anderson and Kurt Hummel, Broadway's gay _dream_ couple." Kurt said after waiting until a man and his dog had finally walked on.

"You're sort of freaking me out here, Kurt," Dave said, peering into the shadows of the tree cover behind them. "Are guys with zip lines going to come out of the trees or something?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. It's just that no one knows the whole truth, Dave. And…and it's complicated." He blew out a breath. "It's a very long story and I've never told it before."

"You know, you don't have to tell me, Kurt. You don't owe me anything."

Kurt shook his head vehemently. "Not true. You didn't have to trust me with _your_ story, but you did. Now it's my turn." He paused, biting his lip. "To be honest, lately I've been wondering why I've been keeping the sanctity of this particular secret…"

"Okay, then." Dave's smile was confused, but warm.

Kurt took a deep breath. "You probably know that Blaine and I were each others' firsts. That's kind of a special thing, almost unheard of for couples these days." He saw Dave nod reflexively then look away and was immediately sorry for his choice of phrasing, certain Dave was thinking about his own first.

Kicking himself, he went on. "We've been together for over thirteen years now, the last _twelve_ in a state where gay marriage is legal." Kurt shook his head, sorrowfully. "The way we met, the way we fell in love – he was always so sweet to me – I just always thought we'd get married. We talkedabout it right after New York passed the bill. We couldn't wait until we got here, for school and for our careers, but also because we'd be free to officially commit ourselves to each other…" He trailed off, lost in memory for a moment. "I know it sounds silly to say this, but I'm an old-fashioned kind of guy. I mean, I know I'm as much 'the man' as he is, but I'd always wanted to be _asked_, you know?"

How long had he waited and wondered? He'd lost track.

"You know me, Dave – I'm not a patient person; I got tired of waiting."

He could see the concern in Dave's eyes and it was reassuring.

"So I came up with this grand plan. I bought a pair of fabulous engagement rings at Tiffany's set with each other's birthstones – Blaine's is garnet, mine, emerald. I hired string players, I chilled strawberries and champagne, and when Blaine came home from the theatre that night I sang to him; Etta James' "At Last," one of THE most beautiful songs ever written. Then I got down on one knee and I proposed."

"You don't mess around, do you," Dave said, awed.

"You don't think the song choice was too obvious? I was hoping he'd think it appropriate and not sarcastic, but who knows?" Kurt shrugged. "He seemed really surprised by it all, surprised but happy, and even though I hadn't been consciously worried, I was so relieved. I felt so…I don't know, _normal_ for a second – isn't that fear what every guy goes through right before he proposes? Didn't _you_?"

Dave was doing his deer-in-the-headlights thing again.

"…um, Gwen proposed to _me_…"

"Wow…" Kurt said quietly. "I did not see _that_ coming…"

Dave's cheeks flushed deeper.

"Let's just put a bookmark in that one for now, shall we?" Kurt waved an index finger at Dave. "But we _will _be getting back to it later…"

Dave grimaced with a nod.

"So, anyway, I'm thinking he's accepted. He pulls me to my feet, we hug and kiss, we drink champagne. He hasn't taken the ring yet, but I'm too buzzed from bubbles and bliss to notice."

Kurt paused, spinning the ring on his pinkie the way he always did when he was tense; it was almost a compulsion these days.

"Later, after he'd walked the musicians to the door – it turns out they were friends of his, but then who isn't? – he comes back, kisses me on the cheek, scoops up the last of the caviar, and tells me he thinks my proposal is…_interesting_."

"Wow," Dave said, shock in his voice. "That's cold."

"I know! Who _says _that? English lords looking to marry their fortunes and their children together?" He grabbed Dave's beer, looked at it then handed it back. "At that point, I'd had two too many glasses of expensive champagne and two too many days of stress setting the whole thing up. I asked him what the hell he meant by _'interesting'_ and he said it meant that he'd _think_ about it. I remember storming off to the bedroom. I remember him joining me there sometime later. I remember him taking my clothes off and telling me I was beautiful and kissing me. And I remember thinking everything must be all right now…"

_Can you still call it naiveté when the rube is over thirty or is he just plain gullible-for-life by then?_

"The next morning, I overslept – Kurt and booze are not the best bedfellows – and Blaine was already gone when I got up. Roz, our housekeeper, had made me breakfast and seemed awfully happy about something. She actually gave me a hug, something my stoic, all-business, _nobody-better-leave-no-dog-hair-on-my-nice-clean-couch_ Jamaican housekeeper _never_ did."

Dave looked like he hadn't blinked in longer than was healthy.

"Well, five minutes later – when I got to Page Six – I found out why Roz was so happy…" Kurt felt his jaw tighten. Two years and that article, if you could call it that, was still fresh in his mind. "The big story of the day, with an abysmally out-of-date photo, no less, was that Broadway's gay prince, Blaine Anderson and his long-time love, costume-designer Kurt Hummel, were _getting married_."

The darkness had started to collect itself on Dave's brow and Kurt realized he _liked _seeing Dave mad when he was mad for Kurt's sake; it made him feel protected.

"And you thought Blaine had…" Dave said quietly.

Kurt was nodding. "…thought about it, yes, and that he'd decided it was more than just interesting, that it was the romantic thing to do when you were in love…"

Kurt felt ill and he was wondering if it was the sushi or the beer – probably both. It certainly couldn't be the story making him sick. No way.

"I never got showered and dressed so fast. I ran, literally _ran,_ down to the Gershwin and found him just finishing up a rehearsal. When the cast and crew saw me, they all started to applaud," Kurt said, clapping his hands together with mock glee. "And when we were finally alone, I kissed him like there was no tomorrow and asked him when he'd changed his mind and do you know what he said?"

Dave swallowed once, his eyes narrowed to slits. "He said he hadn't, didn't he?"

"You've heard this story before, haven't you?" Biting his lip against the insane giggle he'd let out, Kurt went on. "He said that one of the musicians had run into someone from the Post after they'd left our place and had passed along the big news. Blaine had been surprised when he read it and had been about to demand a retraction when he decided maybe people thinking we were married wasn't such a bad idea after all."

"Why," Dave asked, incredulous.

"He had a list of reasons, actually. He said it would keep people from hitting on us, though I'll be honest, I couldn't remember the last time someone had done that to me, which let me tell you was a sad thing to realize. It was also sad, and a little scary, to realize that it was probably happening to him. A lot." He sighed. "He said people looked at gay marrieds differently. I don't have to tell you about homophobia's biggest fear – that every gay guy…" Kurt almost said _'wants to look at your junk,' _but thankfully stopped himself in time. "…wants every straight guy. He said he knew things had changed, but that he still dealt with people – producers, writers – who were uncomfortable around him, which, looking back was _clearly_ a lie. Lastly, he said he was interested in this role in a new show, but the word from the director was that he didn't think Blaine was right for it, that he didn't 'read' gay enough, for the part. Can you believe that? No matter that he'd been living with a man_,_ _as a gay man_, for over ten years, this director said he just didn't think people would buy him in the role… Quote unquote 'marrying' me must have been a good plan because not long after we officially announced our 'elopement,' Blaine got the lead in the musical adaptation of "Queer as Folk…"

Dave just sat there staring over Kurt's shoulder into the shadows, looking like he couldn't decide what to respond to and for a sick moment Kurt wondered if he'd done the right thing in telling him.

When Dave finally looked back at him, there was disbelief and real sadness in voice.

"How could you have gone along with this, Kurt?"

There were so many times in the last two years that Kurt had asked himself the same question, when he'd thought, for an evening, for an hour, for even a split second, that he was going to tell Blaine the charade was off; that he was done pretending. Though it broke his heart to consider it, that issuing the love-of-his life an ultimatum – 'divorce' me or marry me for _real_ – was his only real option, every so often his frustration and his loneliness would lead him to a moment of true clarity. He didn't want to consider the alternative – that Blaine would say, _'okay – divorce, it is' – _but for an evening, or an hour, or a split second, that seemed like the right thing to do. And then…and then his head would clear again (or maybe that was "cloud") and he'd realize he couldn't _ask_ the question because he wasn't ready for the answer. And he'd convince himself that he wasn't unhappy; he had a great life, he _had _Blaine – not as much of him as he wanted, but he did have him. And he'd go on as if the lie were the truth for a little while longer…

Kurt was no idiot; no one would ever accuse him of that. He had always, _always _known the reason why; why he didn't say anything, why he didn't ask the question, why he couldn't bear to take the chance he might not get the answer he wanted…

"Because I _loved_ him, David," he cried, a hand over his mouth as tears started to spill down his face.

So fast he didn't remember it happening, Dave had him in his arms, holding him close, his hands protective on Kurt's back.

"Jesus," he mumbled into Kurt's hair. "I was _wondering_ where the waterworks were. Was starting to think there was something wrong with your eyes…"

Kurt let the heat of that broad chest lull him for a moment.

Reluctantly, he pulled himself away from all that warmth.

"Yeah, yeah, I know I have a rep as a first-class crier," he said, wiping the wet from his face. "The Kurt you used to know was a blubbering idiot. Believe me, I've shed many, many tears over this whole charade. I just…I don't know, I just decided not to do it anymore."

"Not to do _what_," he asked, fishing a folded handkerchief scented with Clive Christian from his lapel pocket and handing it to Kurt.

"Not to cry," Kurt said and the irony of saying it whilst mopping tears from his face with Dave's fine Irish linen was not lost on him. "Not to give in to it."

"Right…" Dave's smile was half sweet, half smirk. "And I seem to remember sitting with that blubbering idiot on this same bench last week…"

"That was different, Dave – that was for you." He folded the handkerchief back up and held it out to Dave who smiled softly, then shook his head, motioning for Kurt to keep it. Kurt ran an appreciative finger along its detailed edge. "Sad movies and friend's troubles, yes. My own stupid life – no way."

"Why not?"

Kurt shrugged.

"Because I refuse to act the victim," he said, shaking his head with vehemence. "And besides, crying is not constructive."

Just then the wind picked up and Kurt, who had not been expecting to be sitting on a bench in Central Park this close to dusk, started to shiver again. Dave, ever observant, pulled a mocha-colored cashmere scarf from his neck and wrapped it around Kurt's.

"You don't have to keep fussing over me, Dave," Kurt muttered half-heartedly, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't like it. That protectiveness.

Blaine used to be protective – in the 'old days.'

"Sorry," Dave laughed. "Can't seem to help myself." He sat back against the bench's curved slats, but never took his eyes off Kurt. "You know, you didn't really answer the question, Fancy. Why are you going along with this?"

Kurt's brain helpfully cued up the same tired slideshow of old photos, images Kurt's memory had snapped and kept stored away for safe keeping. Their first meeting at Dalton; Blaine leading the Warblers on the steps of McKinley when Kurt transferred back; a romantic post senior-play backstage moment Kurt's last year at NYADA; memories that used to make him feel warm and safe and loved, but now smacked of betrayal simply by virtue of their existence _in _the past. Nothing that Blaine had said or done in the past five years had moved Kurt enough to create a lasting _loving_ memory around it…

He sighed heavily, rubbing at an ache between his eyes.

"Because I keep thinking he'll change his mind. That one day he'll come home with a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of champagne, and this time _he'll _propose." He caught Dave's raised eyebrow and just shook his head. "And yes, I _do _know I sound like some silly school girl. _Gay_, remember?"

Kurt had expected some sort of snarky response to that last, but Dave had decided to take the high road.

"And now," he asked, tone surprisingly serious.

"Now _what_, Doctor," Kurt shot back.

Dave surprised him again by taking his hand and at first Kurt thought he was just trying to get his fabulous gloves back, except he didn't let go.

"Do you still think," Dave said, leaning forward to look him in the eye, expression uncharacteristically soulful. "Do you still think he'll change his mind? Do you still want him to?"

Kurt didn't know how to answer. Didn't know what point there was _to _answering.

"A minute ago I asked you why you went along with it in the first place and you said, and I quote, _'Because I loved him.'_ Loved. _Past tense_."

Speechless, Kurt didn't even pretend to have a response to that.

"I think, Kurt," Dave said, squeezing Kurt's hand. "That when you figure out what you meant by that, you'll know what to do next…"

[SECTION BREAK]

Dave had just hit the lobby of the Shelly when his cell phone rang. He wasn't OCD enough to have set up individual ring-tones so he didn't know who was calling until he'd fished the phone out of his pocket.

When he saw the name, he stopped in his tracks, doing a quick check of the lobby; there was only Marcello the doorman and he was outside.

Dave caught a glimpse of his reflection in an ornate mirror and realized he was grinning like an idiot.

Composing his face, he hit "Talk."

"Hey," he said, quietly.

"_So tell me, when did you get so wise, Hamhock?"_

Dave grinned at the screen. "Who me? I was a psych minor. Didn't you know that?"

"_I learn new things about you every day, David." _

"You get home all right? No presents in your boudoir, I hope?"

"_Eww… I haven't checked yet. You better not be psych-ic, too."_

Just then the elevator opened and Mrs. Henderson from 3E walked out, her little Pomeranian, Zoe, trailing behind her. He smiled at her as she walked by and she acknowledged him with a barely perceptible nod.

"Not that today wasn't a million laughs," he said after she'd gone through the door. "But really, Fancy, haven't you had enough of me for one day?" On his way to the mailboxes now, he flashed past another mirror – the lobby was lousy with them – and was appalled to find his face a ridiculous shade of red.

"_Almost enough. I seem to remember we bookmarked something."_

"Bookmarked?"

_Oh, crap! I did say I would explain my engagement… _

He was _not _having this conversation here.

"What're you talking about," he said, playing dumb, something he used to be pretty good at in high school. "What book?"

"_Very funny. You know very well what I'm talking about. You _owe_ me, Dave."_

"I owe you _what_? And apology? A prom dance? A beer?"

"_Ha-ha – very funny, David. And yes, you _do _still_ _owe me that dance…"_

"Wait, I owe you for lunch, don't I. You paid today. What'd it come to? Sixty each plus t—"

"_So, did she get down on one knee, Dave, or did she slip a diamond solitaire into your Wheaties?"_

_Still as stubborn as ever…_

"Fine," Dave said, giving up with a sigh. "But can we talk about it another time? Aren't you drained?"

"_Me? No, I feel great, actually. I just…" _

Dave could hear Fiyero's nails on a tile floor and realized the little diva must be getting his sushi.

"_I just wanted to thank you – for letting me get all of that out. I…I've never told anyone that story before, Dave. Not even Rachel."_

Dave grinned, bowing stupidly. "I'm honored. And I'm glad you feel better." Stuffing his mail under one arm, he hit the button for the elevator, debating about the next question. "…um, figure anything out on the way home?"

There was a pause on Kurt's end; Dave couldn't tell if Kurt were thinking about it or just taking care of the dog.

He heard Kurt take a deep breath.

"_I'm…I'm getting closer, Dave. I promise, I'm getting closer."_

"Good. Because you deserve to be happy, Kurt."

"_So do you, you know, even if you don't believe me."_

Just then the elevator dinged loud enough to set his fillings rattling. He'd asked the manager to have it adjusted but was told the little old ladies in the building needed it that loud. Now he was just glad it was loud enough to be picked up and carried over his phone.

"Ah! The elevator's here," he exclaimed, breathless and jumping in.

"_Convenient interruption, David. Fine, be that way, but I _will _convince you."_

"Good _night_, Kurt."

"_Hmph! Good night, Dave."_

He hit 'End Call' and slipped the phone into his coat pocket.

It'd been over a week since he and Kurt had found each other on opposite ends of a cashmere scarf he had yet to give to his girlfriend, but from the moment he'd seen Kurt, he'd known he was going to have to explain himself. _Really_ explain himself. He should have been preparing himself for it all this week, but he'd been having too good a time on his little mental gay-cation to think about it.

He just hoped Gwen was working late.

He really needed the peace and quiet tonight…

tbc…

14


	5. Chapter 5

**Story: **Someone Like You – 5/8

**Fandom:** Glee – Written for the Kurtofsky Reverse Bang  
><strong>Author:<strong> ibshafer  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R – for language and non-explicit sexual situations  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Kurt, Dave, Blaine, "OC" Gwen

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these people, they own themselves and are just nice enough to let me spin them around the page now and then.

**Summary:** [Written for the kurtofskyrebang using jennybliss's art and story concept.] In the end, Kurt got everything he wanted out of life and Dave fulfilled his own dreams, so why aren't they happy? A chance encounter in NYC brings the boys together again after many years. Can they help each other deal with their pasts (and their futures) and finally figure out what they truly need to be happy?

**Length:** 30,000+

**A/N: **A word of thanks to the fabulous four people who helped me out while I was writing this story. To my amazing _betas_, **merlinhiver** and **HaganeNeko, **for hanging in there while the story just grew and grew, for helping me come to terms with my comma addiction [_"Hello, my name is ibshafer and I'm a comma-holic."_], and for being patient with me when I kept sending out updated drafts because I was changing things. _A lot_. Sorry, ladies! And to my wonderful _pre-readers_, lovely, lovely people both, who held my hand and reassured me what I was writing made sense and wasn't making them sleepy, who lead cheers for me and generally made me feel really, really loved. :-) Thanks to **LizzyPoodle **(a talented writer in her own right) and** JohnHoldenGleek **who is quickly becoming my favorite Irishman of all time.

Someone Like You – 5/8

_~ibshafer_

[_From the previous part…_]

_It'd been over a week since he and Kurt had found each other on opposite ends of a cashmere scarf he had yet to give to his girlfriend, but from the moment he'd seen Kurt, he'd known he was going to have to explain himself. Really explain himself. He should have been preparing himself for it all this week, but he'd been having too good a time on his little mental gay-cation to think about it. _

_He just hoped Gwen was working late. _

_He really needed the peace and quiet tonight…_

[SECTION BREAK]

_Blaine Anderson is the world's biggest fool… _

Sunlight was filtering in through the edges of the tree canopy they'd set up their picnic under, highlighting Kurt's hair with reds and golds, touching off sparks in his pale grey eyes, creating light point freckles on his forehead and cheek.

Dave was wishing he hadn't noticed, because it was making it damn hard for him to concentrate on the long-awaited – and long bookmarked – Story of Dave's Weird Life that he'd been summarily commanded to recount today.

He was not here to wax all dewy-eyed about a friend who was in a relationship even more complicated than his own.

He was here to explain the organized chaos of his life, to bare his soul.

In other words, _to come clean_.

He owed Kurt that much, if for no other reason than that the man had shared with _him _something that was painful and difficult.

Dave's _original_ plan may have been to avoidthis type of situation with Kurt Hummel, or _any _situation with Kurt Hummel for that matter, but all of that changed that day in Barney's and while it, _this, _might be torture for him, he wouldn't have changed it if he could…

Dave began his story, picking up maybe four years after he'd scared Greg into oblivion, at around the time that Gwen had entered his life.

"So, you'd decided by then to try to be straight," Kurt asked, squinting into the light.

"No," Dave said, shaking his head. "I didn't have the time, or the inclination, to be _any_thing back then. I clearly sucked at being gay – all my experiences ended badly for everyone involved. I had no plan but to focus on my work and do what I loved. I'd gotten really good at being alone by then. As far as I was concerned I didn't need anyone else."

"And then Gwen showed up," Kurt supplied.

Dave nodded, his mouth full of quiche. (And yes, he _had _picked on Kurt about it – _"What're you trying to say here, Kurt?"_)

"She moved right into my life, wouldn't take _'go the fuck away'_ for an answer." Dave laughed at the memory; tiny Gwen staring him down like he was some misbehaving five-year old. "She didn't put the moves on me or anything, she was just _always_ _there_. I got tired of telling her to leave me alone and I guess I just got used to having her around. I'll be honest, Kurt," Dave said, catching the other man's eye. "I was…I was _lonely._ I just hadn't realized before." Head tilted to one side, Kurt's smile was kind. "She was pushy, all right. She started making plans _for_ me, but you know what? It was okay. That's what I needed; someone to tell me what to do for my own good." He laughed and Kurt's eyes crinkled as he smiled in response. "She was pushy, arrogant, incredibly opinionated, but she was entertaining as hell. It was hard not to like her."

"Did she…you know, did she pursue you _physically_?"

For a moment, Dave was taken aback by the question, then he grinned, covering his embarrassment with pure smarm. "Not as much as you would think, a hot stud like me."

Pausing, he winked, which got a giggle out of Kurt. "Did people think we were dating? Yeah, I guess they did and yeah, I guess you could say we were, in our way. You asked if she was, you know…after my ass." Again, a wink. "She was affectionate; she liked to hug me, she would touch my arm or my hand when she spoke to me – which she did with everyone, by the way – but did she expect me to sleep with her every night? Or even every week? No, she didn't. She just wasn't that into sex. Still isn't. Some women are like that, you know?"

Kurt had one eyebrow arched, his response clear – _'No, I _didn't_ know that.'_

"But she proposed to you," he asked, never taking his eyes off Dave's. "And you _accepted_."

Dave could feel the blood rushing to his face, but whether it was the question, the attention, or the disappointment in Kurt's voice, he refused to contemplate.

"Yeah, well, it…it wasn't a bad life she was offering. There were things I had always wanted – a great career, a great home – things it could have taken a lifetime to get. Her family had money. Her dad was some billionaire industrialist…and she was an only child. He really helped us out in both of our careers-"

"Be fair to yourself, Dave," Kurt said, shaking his head. "I've seen your work and you're an _awesome_ architect."

As if there weren't enough there already, Dave could feel even more heat gathering in his cheeks. He might have had the arrogant act down to an art form in high school, at least at McKinley, but it had never been more than that – an act.

"Thanks," he said, uncomfortably. "But I'm probably five years ahead of the game because of Cal."

Kurt seemed to accept this. He even nodded like he understood why Dave had accepted Gwen's help. But still…

_This isn't over…_

Dave could see Kurt working up to something and he was smart enough to be worried. He knew Kurt at least that well.

"So, _what_," Kurt finally said, squinting in Dave's direction though Dave was fairly certain the sun was _behind _the other man. "…you've got a girlfriend, or rather, a _fiancée_, a fabulous job with a top firm that her influential father helped you get…"

Dave winced at the tone of Kurt's voice, judgmental with just a _hint_ of pity.

"You got everything you always wanted, didn't you?"

_Ah, there it is._

Nope. No mistaking it; _Kurt was pissed._

_Fan-fucking-tastic. _

Before he could respond, Kurt had gone on.

"So, _what_ - you're _straight_ now? Do you _really_ believe that that's who you are?" The sun had moved on and Kurt's patch of blanket was now fully in shade, but his eyes…his eyes were glowing. "Are you going to tell me you're not attracted to men anymore?"

Dave sighed. He thought about telling Kurt to leave him the fuck alone, but that's something that McKinley Dave would have said, not his more evolved cousin.

It was the last question he wanted to answer, though.

He'd promised himself to hold nothing back today; why hadn't he realized he'd have to answer this question?

"_I_ don't know, Kurt," he muttered, at a loss for any other response. "I don't know _what_ I am…"

That was a lie; he knew what he was. He'd always known.

Kurt chewed his lip for a moment, eyes never leaving Dave's.

"Okay, let me ask you this and please, please be honest with me – _how do you dream?_ Are your dreams gay or straight?"

"_What_," Dave gasped, thankful that he wasn't eating or drinking anything just then or Kurt would have been wearing it.

"Do you ever dream about sex? A macho guy like you, I'm _sure_ you do." Kurt winked, his expression smoothly morphing from combative to predatory. "Our dreams are our most honest thoughts, Dave, maybe not literally, but generally. Tell me; are your dreams about men or women?"

Dave's heart skipped a beat and his face immediately reheated.

As Kurt had been talking, Dave's eyes had just been idly scanning blanket, trees, basket, etc… and had just lit on the curve of the other man's jaw, at his smooth neck, skin taut, pulse point beating rapidly.

Never mind Dave's dreams. He couldn't _"think straight"_ when he was _in _control_. _

"I'm not…I'm not answering that," he mumbled, pissed at himself for stuttering and giving it away.

"I _knew_ it," Kurt grinned triumphantly.

"So what_,_" he growled.

Dave knew the high-pressure sales pitch was coming and he was thinking he'd almost rather just get up and leave than have to listen to it.

He _knew_ why product "**Being Gay**" surpassed the poorly made "**Playing Straight**;" he just didn't think he had the skill set to operate it, not without a manual, anyway.

And then Kurt surprised him; skipping the hard sell for altruism.

"So _what_? So how can you _do_ that to her?" He was glaring at Dave now, incredulous.

Dave wanted to remind Kurt that when Kurt had spun _his _sorry tale, Dave hadn't come down hard on _him_, but he knew he would have lost that one. No one bested Kurt in a battle of wits; he was like the Sicilian, only smarter and better dressed.

_A Princess Bride reference? Oh, you're _definitely_ gay…_

"How can you marry this woman even though you'd rather be with a man," Kurt asked, cheeks flushed, angry.

"I don't _know_ what I'd rather be, Kurt," Dave muttered, waving a hand at him dismissively. "I don't think about that stuff."

"_Bullshit!" _

They sat glaring at each other, neither backing down.

Finally, Kurt looked away, shaking his head.

"_Fine_. Whatever. Do you still think it's fair to Gwen that you marry her? For her to marry a man who," he paused gesturing derisively in Dave's direction. "May, or _may not_, ever want to have sex with her. Is it fair to let her marry someone who, though he won't admit, _is gay?_"

So many ways to answer this question, but in this case, the truth was probably the safest.

Dave sighed heavily.

"She _knows_, Kurt."

Kurt blinked at him, confused. "She knows what?"

"She knows I'm gay."

Holding his breath for exactly three seconds, Kurt's face suddenly did a one-eighty, breaking into a huge grin.

"I think my _head_ is going to explode – first, that's the first time I've ever heard you say those words. I'm so proud of you I could _cry_!" He reached across the blanket and grabbed Dave's foot, giving it an excited shake. "Second, _WHAT_? When did you tell her?"

Dave was relieved Kurt didn't seem to be mad anymore, but he knew better than to think the storm was over…

"I _didn't_ tell her," he said quietly. "She figured it out. I told you; she's scary-smart. Remember Santana Lopez? _That _smart."

"I don't get it then," Kurt said, scowling. "Why would she ask you to marry her if she knew that you were gay?" He tilted his head in thought then one eyebrow slowly arched. "Did she not figure it out until _after_ she proposed," Kurt asked with a grimace.

"No, um…she knew before then, way before," Dave said quietly, remembering his horror at how easily she'd figured him out when he'd basically been _asexual_ since the night that Greg had left. "When we were still in school, actually."

Kurt made a face that Dave recognized as his _"what the fuck"_ face.

"So…so _why_ then?" Kurt shook his head. "I don't get why she'd want a sham marriage."

Dave had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.

"Do I need to point out how hypocritical that is coming from you," he asked.

Both of Kurt's eyebrows shot up simultaneously.

"_Touché…_" he said, looking chagrinned.

"You asked me why," Dave went on. "It had a lot to do with her father, actually. He was pressuring her to settle down. She was smart and had done really well in school – she was a law student, remember – but she was also a real wild one. She liked to party, had gotten into trouble a few times – the kind of trouble you need a well-placed father to get you out of – and he had issued her an ultimatum." Dave paused, reconsidering. "It was more like a bargain; if she settled down – and stopped embarrassing him in the press – he would set her up with her own law practice. But first she needed to get more serious about taking the bar. And she needed to clean up her act. He wanted to see her in a nice, stable relationship with someone…_suitable_." Dave winced, remembering too well just how _'suitable'_ he'd been when they'd met.

"So she needed a big strong man. _You_."

Dave let out a laugh.

He'd weighed close to 280 by then and not a toned muscle on him anywhere. He lived in the library, never went outside for longer than it took to get somewhere. In short, Dave was a pasty, flabby mess…

"Yeah, well, let's just say I was a work-in-progress at that point," he said with an eye roll. "After Greg left, I buried myself in school. I scared all my friends away and I spent all my time in the library. For four years, I ate nothing but bad food. I stopped playing sports, stopped lifting weights. When Gwen picked me up in the cafeteria, I was seriously out of shape."

_Understatement…_

Kurt grinned. "Obviously, you were good raw material."

"Yeah, that's what _she_ said…" Dave said, returning the grin. "She took me to her gym. She had her personal trainer kick my ass once a week – and _she_ kicked it the rest of the week. She went through my diet with a machete and got me eating like a human being again. Let me tell you, she's a stern task master, but you know what? She knew what she was doing. We helped each _other_; she kept my work outs on track, I kept her focused on her studies. By the end of the school year, she'd passed the bar and I'd gotten my Masters. I'd also taken off 50 lbs and packed on inches of muscle." Dave felt his face flush; he'd been proud of what he'd accomplished and that he'd been able to maintain it, build _on_ it. He was in great shape. He wasn't so much in denial that he didn't notice the attention he got – both from women and men…

"By the time I met her father," he grinned. "I was husband material."

"And you were OK with that," Kurt asked and then, as a faint smile turned his mouth, he looked Dave over appraisingly. "Seems like such a waste..."

Dave used feigned shock to hide how pleased he actually was by that remark.

"I…um, I didn't _mind_ it. I liked her. I _loved_ her." Dave shrugged, pleased when Kurt smiled at this. "It was hard not to. She's a great girl. Was I _in love_ with her? No…no, I wasn't, but I thought that would come with time. We had so much going for us already."

'_Other than the same sexuality'_ Dave's annoying inner monologue supplied and Dave had no doubt Kurt's was telling him the same thing…

"We had a great time together. So, what if we weren't all over each other like other couples, we got _along_ better than most of them did." He stopped, looking Kurt dead in the eye. "She got me out of my self-imposed prison, Kurt. She got me back into the _world_ again. I'll always be grateful to her for that."

Kurt's smile was warm, but concerned. "And she doesn't care that you're not straight?"

Dave shook his head. She didn't. She really didn't. He didn't know how she made that work in her head, but she did.

"We've been together for seven years now. So what if we don't have sex…"

He should have seen Kurt's next question coming, but somehow it caught him off guard.

"Have you ever?"

Even in the shade under their tree, Dave could see Kurt blush…which meant Kurt would certainly be able to see the flush spreading across his own stupid cheeks.

"_Once_," Dave said with a grimace and a shameful flash of memory; her father's lake cabin, too damn much wine, and the most awkward, where's-the-fucking-sex-manual sex ever had… He threw his hands over his face for a second, scrubbing at his cheeks as if to wipe away the memory.

"It was a total _disaster_. We…we, um, you know, we…pulled it off in the end, but…I would not say it was a good time for either of us…. We just decided not to try it again until we were ready for children."

Eyes wide, Kurt slammed a hand into his chest as if to keep his heart from escaping.

"_Again_, my head is going to explode," he gasped.

"_IF! IF,_" Dave cried, waving his hands uselessly, trying to calm him. "IF we decide to have children…"

Even as he said it, he knew how ridiculous it sounded. Not that the world wasn't filled with loads of other non-traditional parents, but in a relationship as inherently convoluted as his and Gwen's, maybe children weren't the best idea?

"I just…I just don't see how you can do this, David." Kurt shook his head softly, then looked up, the concern so evident on his face it made Dave's stomach hurt with guilt. "This life… It's not fair to _you_. I know you're each getting something out of this arrangement, but haven't you gotten enough? Do you have to carry this charade on all the way through to marriage?"

Dave just shrugged, unsure how to answer.

Did they? _Didn't_ they? He'd given his word. They'd made plans for the future. They'd moved here to New York as a _part _of that plan. Didn't that mean they were committed to it, to each other?

"Don't you want to live your life without the lie?" Kurt gestured to the air. "You're in New York now, not Lima, not Columbus. There's no _Azimio_ here, no…no Greg." He had his slim hand on Dave's arm now and Dave was amazed at the amount of heat something so pale could give off. "You can be anyone you _want_ to be here, David. Why not be yourself?"

As nonchalantly as he could, Dave slipped his arm out of Kurt's grasp, but it was already too late. His heart was beating like a stupid drum in his chest and he was having problems thinking straight again.

"I just… I'm _fine_, Kurt," he mumbled, unable to look him in the eye. "I…I don't need _that _in my life. Sex is overrated, anyway."

"In my experience," Kurt said, channeling Mae West like the pro that he was. "The people who say _'sex is overrated'_ aren't doing it right…"

Dave bit his tongue before the natural, and in this case, the sadly correct response spilled from his mouth (_'Oh, man, if you only knew…'_), instead rolling his eyes and offering his very best fake laugh. "_Har-Har_, Fancy."

He was grateful Kurt wasn't pressing the issue further. The _last _thing Dave wanted to be discussing with Kurt Hummel was _sex_, satisfying or otherwise.

To get his mind off of his embarrassment, he pulled out his little mental checklist – Things I Have to Tell Kurt Tonight – and checked his progress. He was doing pretty well until he got to the last on the list – and his stomach turned over…

_Okay, Dave, no time like the present…_

"So…um, Kurt, I have another confession to make."

Kurt just stared at him, non-plussed.

"Jeez, Dave – what's _left?_" Amusement and concern were fighting for air time on Kurt's face.

"I…uh, I've kind of been keeping something from you," he said quietly. "Not a lie, really, just something I haven't mentioned that I probably should have… I just thought it might weird you out too much."

Kurt, who had been fussing with the hem of his trousers, suddenly froze and looked over at him.

"Okay, now you've really got me scared, Dave. Don't tell me you're a member of NAMBLA or I _will_ cut you."

Dave burst out laughing, relieved at Kurt's humor, but also relieved Kurt's hypothetical made the reality seem a pittance by comparison. "Nah, man, nothing disgusting."

"Well, _that's _a relief. So what _is _it?"

Dave chewed his lip for a moment longer. "You…uh, you said that Blaine had a new attorney, didn't you? One that was helping him broker a film deal?"

"Yes…" Kurt said, warily.

_He must be tired or he would have figured this out already._

"And I told you that Gwen is an _entertainment_ attorney, right?"

The little light bulb in Kurt's head flickered to life.

"Are you trying to tell me that Gwen is Blaine new lawyer?"

Dave nodded slowly. "Yes, I am."

Kurt sat back and seemed to chew on that for a moment. "_Huh_," he said, as if still processing the information. "Well, that's…um, I guess that's a funny coincidence, but not really that big of a deal right?"

Dave felt his jaw tighten.

"Yeah, except that…um, Gwen talks nonstop and she's been telling me things about her _'fab new gay client and his adorable husband' _since she took Blaine on. For _weeks_, Kurt." He paused. "I _knew_ things about you and Blaine before I even ran into you that day."

"I…I haven't even _met_ her yet," Kurt murmured absently. Just then his expression froze. "What do you mean _'things'_?" He looked at Dave, confused. "Did you know my schedule? Did you know I'd be at _Barney's_ that day? Did you go there _looking_ for me?"

_Vanity thy name is Hummel…_

"You think I was stalking you, Fancy?" Dave bit his tongue to keep from laughing, but it was clear from Kurt's expression he knew how ridiculous that had sounded.

"Okay, okay," Kurt mumbled, blushing. "Getting over myself over here."

They grinned at each other and Dave tried not to notice the flush still pinking Kurt's cheeks…

"It was just general stuff," Dave said, distracting himself from all that pink with a glance to his cuticles. "That's how I found out that you and Blaine were in New York. And she knows I've been dying to work in the San Remo, so she would tell me about your apartment."

The wrinkle was back between Kurt's eyebrows. "I don't understand why you didn't want to tell me Gwen was working for Blaine."

"I…uh, I haven't exactly told her that I know you two…" Dave said, chewing his lip.

"Why?" Kurt said, looking hurt.

"Because I _know_ her," Dave said, rolling his eyes. "She _lives_ to be social. She would have insisted we have dinner together..."

Two steel-grey eyes looked at him expectantly. "And…"

Dave grunted in frustration. "And I wasn't sure that was such a great idea. Me and Blaine? In the same room? He wasn't too happy with me that last time we ran into each other."

"What," Kurt laughed. "You mean the night we came back for the concert and you two got into a dick waving contest in the hallway?"

Dave nearly choked on the sip of water he'd just taken. "We did _what_?"

"Oh, please," Kurt scoffed. "You think I didn't know what that was really about?" He surprised Dave by winking now. "In retrospect, it was sort of cute."

Dave felt himself blushing, mostly because Kurt was right, though Dave hadn't realized it until now…

"Besides," Kurt went on. "That wasn't the last time you two saw each other."

"Riiiight," Dave said. "That night at Scandals…"

He remembered that night well, with its lame-ass drag queens and revelatory Kurt Hummel conversations; that night was like a long-held breath finally being let out. Blaine had been there, too, dancing like a spazz with some smarmy prep from Dalton, so drunk Dave doubted he'd even noticed Dave was there.

"Yeah, I don't think the hobbit even saw me," Dave said with a laugh.

Kurt paused to smirk – Dave assumed at the nickname – then he was shaking his head. "Not true, Dave. We were dancing and he looked over and saw you with that drag queen and got all macho protective, asking me if I needed him to, and I quote here loosely, _'put a beatin' on Karofufsky?'_"

"Now _that_ would have been an entertaining way to end the evening," he replied with his own smirk. "What'd you tell him?"

Kurt smiled, eyes dancing. "I told him you'd been a complete gentleman and he should leave you alone."

And the memory just got better…

Gamely fighting the urge to smile, Dave nodded his thanks instead. "Yeah, well…"

Suddenly, Kurt was looking at him strangely. "This wasn't about Blaine, was it, David? Were you…were you avoiding _me_?"

Dave blew out a breath, wondering why it was that Kurt only used his full name when he was dead serious about something…

"I dunno, Kurt," Dave mumbled, shrugging. "Maybe I was…"

Kurt looked hurt for a moment, but then he took a deep breath, nodding as if he finally understood. His expression was so earnest it almost hurt to look at him.

"Maybe I was just afraid you'd have me thinking I could have things I'd convinced myself I couldn't have," Dave said before he could stop himself, wondering, now that he'd said it, if Kurt would just take it at its safer surface meaning or if he'd dig deeper, to the far more incriminating one.

Kurt worked his jaw for a moment, color dotting his cheeks, and Dave had his answer.

When Kurt finally spoke his voice was quiet, but his eyes bore into Dave's.

"David, I have a question for you and if you don't want to answer it, I'll understand."

Something in Dave's head told him to run, but he was held there fast by Kurt's tone, by his eyes. "Wh-what's your question," he said softly.

"Back when we were in school," he began, voice faltering almost imperceptibly. "…back when things weren't so good between us, and then, you know, afterwards, when we'd made amends. Did you… Did you…" He trailed off here, face fully ablaze now.

A little light-headed, Dave could feel his own cheeks heating, having no question about what Kurt was trying to ask.

_No more beating around the bush, Dave. Man up already. _

"Yes," he said simply, looking Kurt in the eye.

_And there it is. Fourteen years in the making..._

Kurt looked like he was holding his breath. "Yes, what?"

Surrendering to the admission, the _confession_, was actually rather freeing. Dave felt the calm settle in as he responded.

"You want to ask me if I had feelings for you back in high school, Kurt. Here's your answer: y_es._ Yes, I did." He felt the sting of moisture in the corners of his eyes.

A series of emotions washed across Kurt's expressive face, the most clear being regret.

"W-why didn't you _say_ anything," Kurt asked and the wonder in his voice made Dave's heart trip in his chest.

The next moment, he was damning himself.

Wasn't the answer obvious?

"You mean other than because I couldn't handle how I was feeling and I treated you like shit _because_ of it?" Dave could feel the Fury trying to take control and he fought it, winning only partially. "Oh, I pretty much knew you were never going to see me as anything but this huge asshole that hurt you – big, fat, sweaty Hamhock…"

Kurt had a hand over his mouth, his eyes starting to leak regret down his cheeks.

"David, I am so sorry." He closed his eyes for a second, sending a shower down his face. "I…I made such a big deal about apologies, but I never apologized to you, did I?"

_Huh?_

"What are you talking about? You had nothing to apologize to _me_ for." Dave felt the guilt threatening to move in and take up residence. Again. "W-what I did to you was…"

Kurt was shaking his head vehemently. "I know I was just standing up for myself, but…but I said some things to you that day that were pretty awful; the kind of things that stay with you."

Dave didn't know what to say; _it was true._

Because he thought he deserved it, he'd carried the nickname, and the apt description, with him everywhere he went. His self-confidence, at least back then, was always tempered by those words. He'd never blamed Kurt, never held it against him; it was the reality check he felt he'd deserved.

Clearly taking Dave's silence as a response, Kurt continued. "I should have apologized, David, I mean later, when we were on better terms. I made it all about me; everything was always about me." He broke off, shaking his head. "I'm such a _hypocrite_."

Now that was going too far.

"_Stop_ it," Dave said sternly. "I'm not looking for an apology, Kurt. I didn't deserve one then and I don't now."

Whatever Kurt was feeling right now, it was obviously about a lot more than just his guilt over what he believed to be a long-overdue apology.

"But…but I made you think you were a _dog_," he said, disgusted. "That I would never accept you."

Dave shook his head. "You never would have. You know that."

Kurt wiped at his face, crying in earnest now. "No I don't. If I'd…if I'd never met Blaine that day… If…"

…_if wishes were horses?_

"That's a lot of _'ifs'_ Kurt," Dave said, trying to keep control of his voice; he'd be lying if he said he'd never run the scenario through his head before.

"I know it's stupid to think this way," Kurt said, wiping at his face with a napkin. "The past can't be changed, but…but things could have gone so differently – if I'd just realized what you were going through."

This was wrong and he knew it. Kurt was about as guilty here as the Queen of England.

"Nope. I don't accept that," Dave said, voice like iron. He was so caught up in his self-recrimination, that he didn't see Kurt moving closer. "I don't deserve it," he was saying. "I was rotten. I was _lower_ than dog shit. I was-"

Slender hands grabbing at the wool of Dave's sweater, Kurt kissed him.

[SECTION BREAK]

Never mind that the kiss itself lasted no more than 10 seconds.

Never mind that Dave made Kurt promise he would never do it again.

Never mind that Dave helped Kurt pack up the blanket and basket then left him standing there without saying another word.

It also didn't matter that of the scores of people who saw them that day, there were one or two who actually knew who they were.

No, all that really mattered was the kiss itself.

Dave just didn't know it yet.

tbc…

15


	6. Chapter 6

**Story: **Someone Like You – 6/8

**Fandom:** Glee – Written for the Kurtofsky Reverse Bang  
><strong>Author:<strong> ibshafer  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R – for language and non-explicit sexual situations  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Kurt, Dave, Blaine, "OC" Gwen

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these people, they own themselves and are just nice enough to let me spin them around the page now and then.

**Summary:** [Written for the kurtofskyrebang using jennybliss's art and story concept.] In the end, Kurt got everything he wanted out of life and Dave fulfilled his own dreams, so why aren't they happy? A chance encounter in NYC brings the boys together again after many years. Can they help each other deal with their pasts (and their futures) and finally figure out what they truly need to be happy?

**Length:** 30,000+

**Feedback: **_Yes, of course! I'm like Tinkerbell (and Rachel Berry) – I need your applause (and hopefully not your rotten tomatoes!) to live…_

**HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, PIRATES!: **Posting early today in celebration of the day and in the hopes that we will see our Pirate leader wearing his heart on his sleeve tonight on Glee. (And not getting his hopes too badly dashed in the process…)

Someone Like You – 6/8

_~ibshafer_

[_From the previous part…_]

_Never mind that the kiss itself lasted no more than 10 seconds. _

_Never mind that Dave made Kurt promise he would never do it again._

_Never mind that Dave helped Kurt pack up the blanket and basket then left him standing there without saying another word._

_It also didn't matter that of the scores of people who saw them that day, there were one or two who actually knew who they were. _

_No, all that really mattered was the kiss itself._

_Dave just didn't know it yet._

[SECTION BREAK]

"Everything all right, Boss-man?"

Celie had passed by his office and seen him absently staring out the window.

"Yeah," he said, clearing his throat. "Why do you ask?"

She shrugged, her pixie face pinching into a frown. "No reason, I guess. Just that you've been stuck in the office a lot lately. It's not like you."

"Working in my office isn't like me," he asked, tone cool, but he knew what she was getting at. He hadn't gone out for lunch in over a week.

"That's not what I meant," she said, scowling at him, but he could see the concern in her eyes. "You didn't have a fight with your friend, Kurt, did you?"

He caught his jaw a split second before it dropped; it was an innocent enough question.

Cee, the whole _office_, really, had gotten accustomed to his routine. He had been meeting Kurt for lunch for several weeks now. (Kurt had only come by once more to pick Dave up, but true to his word, he had arrived with a beautiful blond woman on his arm – thankfully, he'd spared them all the waiting room make-out session…)

Did he and Kurt have a fight?

Hard to know _what _to call what they'd had…

"Nah," Dave said with a guarded frown. "He's just been really busy with work, that's all."

Celie nodded as though she only half believed him.

"Well, at least you guys had that nice picnic in the park last weekend," she said, smiling.

_Wait – what? How did she…_

He'd been happy to accept Kurt's invite, even though he'd known he'd have to finally share the rest of his "story" with the man (as much of a disaster as that had turned out to be), but they'd made those plans outside of the office. How could little Miss In-My-Biz have known? And what was she _thinking _about what she knew?

_Straight men don't invite other straight men for picnics, Fancy…_

She must have seen the expression on his face – which he could only guess was pretty telling – because she continued her explanation.

"Miri and I were taking a run through the park a couple Saturdays ago and we saw you guys. You looked deep in conversation so we didn't interrupt you. Looked like a yummy lunch, though." She grinned. "I don't know why men don't picnic more often."

She stood smiling in the doorway, eyes intent on him for a moment longer than he was comfortable with, then she winked and backed out of his office.

Dave was just wondering what she'd seen that day when his iPhone went off in his pocket, scaring the crap out of him. Swearing softly, he fished the thing out and slapped it down on the desk.

Outside his office door, he heard Celie giggle.

_Calm the hell down, Karofsky…_

On his feet now, Dave stalked to the door and closed it, then retrieved the message.

'_Meet me in the park at noon? I promise to keep my lips to myself.' _

Dave swore under his breath, then sat with his finger poised over the screen, unsure how to answer.

He had a million things to do today. Gwen was heading out of town for business, with Blaine, actually, and she'd given him a list a mile long.

He and Kurt were going to have to talk at _some_ point, though. Might as well get it over with…

Muttering to himself, he typed a response. _'I'm gonna hold you to that.'_

[SECTION BREAK]

The October air was crisp, the sky a dramatic palette of grays.

Kurt watched as the wind picked up, drawing scattered leaves in reds and golds and ochers toward the sky where they stood out against the billows of blue/grey like sparks. It made him itch for a sketchpad; certainly, at some point in his career, he might need to design a kimono.

Delighted, he watched the leaves chase each other down the footpath and across the fields, until his gaze lit upon the tree under which he and Dave had spread their picnic and his heart seized in his chest.

He'd called Dave and asked him to join him here (at "their" bench), but he wasn't quite delusional enough to take Dave's assent as a good sign.

The irony of them once again being at an impasse – _over a kiss_ – was not lost on him.

Kurt had given in to an impulse and while he could certainly appeal to Dave's sense of history in begging his forgiveness, he somehow doubted that would fly with the man. This time there were different things at stake, things that involved other people, innocent people. Kurt understood that.

Knowing he had a knack for belaboring any and all points, for saying five times as much when half was called for, he was hoping a more stripped down approach would work.

The truth was he missed Dave horribly and he wanted him back, in whatever capacity the man would agree to, as soon as possible.

Not even his own work schedule (Dave hadn't been wrong about the two shows and the costume institute) could fill the black void in his personal life where the supposed love ofhis life used to be, now even more so with Blaine's business trip to Los Angeles coming up. It might be unfair to expect Dave, who had a life and a career of his own, to fill that void, but Kurt hadn't felt that Dave had minded in any way.

They werefriends. They were good friends.

Kurt just wanted that back.

If he believed there was more than that under the surface if Dave would only just let himself feel it, well that was Kurt's prerogative.

[SECTION BREAK]

In the distance, Dave saw Kurt sitting on their bench, and yes, he realized he sounded like some pathetic old romantic for even calling it that, but with hundreds of benches in Central Park, it was just easier to call it _some_thing. It _was. _

Kurt had his legs stretched out in front of him, but pulled them back quickly, folding them under the bench's wooden slats, when he saw Dave coming.

Dave sighed, feeling the hard knot of confusion in his chest start to spin. He'd been struggling with that pain there, so much like heartburn, but deeper and more insistent, since the moment Kurt had kissed him.

He knew what it meant; everything he'd been afraid of was happening.

It was high school all over again, except that this time it wasn't peer pressure keeping him from accepting who he was, it was his feelings for the woman who had saved him and changed him and somehow accepted him in spite of himself.

As much as he'd tried to control it, that control had proven futile in the face of a much stronger force.

He was falling for Kurt Hummel. Again.

The truth, though, was that it didn't matter what he wanted or even what he _felt_, there were other people involved here. He was committed to Gwen; he couldn't and wouldn't go back on that now.

Even though Kurt's lips had felt like a promise.

Even if Dave's heart had been beating against his rib cage like it was trying to escape.

There was right – and there was _wrong_.

Dave had lived too much of his life in the wrong; he wouldn't do it again.

As he drew closer he could see Kurt's pale cheeks flush and he just hoped that whatever the man had to say, he wouldn't try to convince Dave to do otherwise.

[SECTION BREAK]

Dave stood before him, cheeks ruddy in the cold air and mouth set in a hard, straight line.

"Before you say anything, David, I want to apologize to you _again_. Please, _please_ believe how sorry I am. If it's at all reassuring to you, I didn't lure you to the park that day with an ulterior motive."

Dave seemed to hang onto the stern for a moment longer, then he softened, eyes crinkling at the corners. "I know that, Kurt," Dave said and Kurt was elated at the sound of relief he heard in Dave's voice.

Judging from the shadows under his eyes, similar to the ones Kurt had had until he'd groped for his concealer this morning, Dave had had a rough week, too.

There were a thousand things Kurt wanted to say to Dave right now, not the least of which was that that kiss may have been motivated by more than simple guilt and proximity, but he'd only just gotten the man to relax with him; he didn't want to undo that.

If his powers of persuasion weren't too rusty – and there was a brocade wholesaler on Canal Street who was probably still cursing his name – he hoped to have an opportunity for just such a conversation with Dave in the not too distant future.

In the meantime, David was still standing there on the footpath at what Kurt assumed Dave thought was a safe distance…

"Oh, for pity's _sake_, Dave, I'm not going to _bite _you."

Dave froze for a second, the way a kid with his hand in the cookie jar does when he knows he's been caught, and then he just shrugged.

"That's not what _I_ heard about you, Fancy," he said. "I…um, I hear you're into that sort of thing…"

"_Pfft_," Kurt scoffed. "Only with people I _do_ that sort of thing with, which you know, right now is kind of limited."

Was it Kurt's imagination or were Dave's cheeks flushed when he sat down next to him?

"That's better," Kurt said, trying to pretend he hadn't seen that as watched Dave get comfortable. Smiling, he took a deep breath. "_So_, I have an offer to make to you, again by way of apology, but you'd also really be helping me out." Dave eyed him sharply, but at least he didn't pull away. Cautiously optimistic, Kurt went on. "As you know, our not-insignificant-others are heading to Los Angeles in a couple days, which is all kinds of fabulous, especially if Blaine gets that movie role, but the timing of this trip has left me in kind of a bind."

Dave offered up another one of his confused half-smiles and god damn if Kurt's heart didn't skip a beat in his silly chest. Trying to ignore it, though it made him a little light-headed, Kurt soldiered on.

"Blaine and I were supposed to go to an opening at an art museum upstate this weekend; we won tickets at a charity auction for a meet-and-greet with the photographer…"

"Are…are you asking me to go to a museum with you, Kurt," Dave asked, eyebrows pinched. "You certainly don't need _me_ to meet some photographer."

"Of course, I don't _'need'_ you to meet the photographer, Dave" Kurt said, rolling his eyes. "But judging from the framed and signed photographs in your office, I thought she might be someone you'd want to meet, too."

Dave stared at him for a second and then his eyebrows flew up.

"You're going to meet Hilla Becher?"

Kurt was nodding enthusiastically. "I am! And you are, too, if you come up with me." He grinned. "She hasn't had a show in the US for years, but the DIA Center in Beacon managed to talk her into a retrospective." Kurt clapped his hands together. "Oh, Dave, you have to _see_ this place; it's a museum _in _an aging industrial complex! I'm guessing once she saw the location, she knew it was too perfect to pass up."

"You know, I met her once, when Bernd was still alive; they gave a lecture in Berlin. It was just fascinating. Their approach to each image…" Dave used his hands to mime the technique. "…the analysis, the measurement, the absolute precision – it's very much like the logic architects apply to design, only theBechers record the end of a structure's life cycle and we, the beginning."

Dave continued his musings on the Bechers' work and the nature of architecture and Kurt couldn't help but smile; this was exactly what he'd been hoping for.

Dave was usually in such tight control of his responses and his emotions, but when he was talking about his work, work that was as much art as was music or costume design, he _came to life_. It was that passion, buried so deeply when Dave had been a scared-straight high school student, which Kurt always sought out. It was what he loved most about him.

Kurt looked up to find Dave, who had been gesturing wildly towards a structure in the distance, suddenly regarding Kurt warily.

"_What?_" Kurt huffed once. "Can't I smile at a friend's enthusiasm? I'm sorry, but it's _cute_."

"My attention to detail and professional integrity are _'cute'_?" Dave was still smiling, but Kurt could see him starting to get spooked.

Growling, he kicked Dave's foot. "_Jeez_, I told you I'm not going to try anything. I _promise._" Crossing his heart with his index finger, Kurt spat in the dirt, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, appalled. "_Ugh!_ That was disgusting. Remind me never to do that again."

When he looked up Dave was just shaking his head. "You're a goofball, you know that?"

"You know, I do believe that's the _first_ time anyone has ever called me that." Kurt said, sitting up straighter and grinning. "Is it a _good _thing? Should I add it to my resume?"

"Yes," Dave said, nodding sagely. "At the top, so it's the first thing anyone sees. In bold. _And_ _red_. "

Kurt pulled out an imaginary pad of paper and mined writing. "_'Pot calling kettle black.'_ Gotcha." Kurt stopped fake writing and smiled at him. "I've missed you, David. I've missed my friend."

Ducking his head awkwardly without breaking eye contact, Dave smiled in return. "Me, too, Fancy. Me, too."

Still smiling, Kurt looked away, rubbing at a spot just over his breast bone.

In the center of his chest, a hot little ember – no more than a speck, really – had started to burn. It'd been a very long time since he'd felt anything like it, but not so long that he didn't know what it meant.

Kurt was falling in love with Dave Karofsky.

tbc…

8


	7. Chapter 7

**Story: **Someone Like You – 7/8

**Fandom:** Glee – Written for the Kurtofsky Reverse Bang  
><strong>Author:<strong> ibshafer  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R – for language and non-explicit sexual situations  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Kurt, Dave, Blaine, "OC" Gwen

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these people, they own themselves and are just nice enough to let me spin them around the page now and then.

**Summary:** [Written for the kurtofskyrebang using jennybliss's art and story concept.] In the end, Kurt got everything he wanted out of life and Dave fulfilled his own dreams, so why aren't they happy? A chance encounter in NYC brings the boys together again after many years. Can they help each other deal with their pasts (and their futures) and finally figure out what they truly need to be happy?

**Length:** 30,000+

**Feedback: **_Yes, of course! I'm like Tinkerbell (and Rachel Berry) – I need your applause (and hopefully not your rotten tomatoes!) to live…_

**Literary License #2:** Mention is made of Industrial Age photographers Bernd and Hilla Becher (who are really wonderful and worth looking up if you're into photography!), but while I state that Dave in fact met both Bernd and Hilla at a lecture in Berlin, this is not possible since Bernd passed away in 2007. I'm sure no one will care about this but me, but in the interests of accuracy, I had to mention it. :)

**Literary License #3:** I have combined the art installations of DIA:Beacon and the Storm King Art Center, whose collections enrich the lovely Hudson Valley in which I live – but are on opposite sides of the Hudson… FFN won't let me include links to their sites, but Google both, or any of the artists or pieces cited below – you won't be sorry! (_ART ROCKS!_)

**A/N: **_I want to thank everyone so much for their kind reviews and for favoriting and alerting this story! I loved writing it so much and every step of the way, I was living for your responses – hoping it would move you, entertain you, make your Kurtofsky hearts sing! Thank you so much!_

Someone Like You – 7/8

_~ibshafer_

[_From the previous part…_]

_Kurt pulled out an imaginary pad of paper and mimed writing. "'Pot calling kettle black.' Gotcha." Kurt stopped fake writing and smiled at him. "I've missed you, David. I've missed my friend."_

_Ducking his head awkwardly without breaking eye contact, Dave smiled in return. "Me, too, Fancy. Me, too."_

_Still smiling, Kurt looked away, rubbing at a spot just over his breast bone. _

_In the center of his chest, a hot little ember – no more than a speck, really – had started to burn. It'd been a very long time since he'd felt anything like it, but not so long that he didn't know what it meant._

_Kurt was falling in love with Dave Karofsky._

[SECTION BREAK]

They day was crisp and the sky a shade of flawless blue somehow only visible at this time of year. Dave was glad Kurt had reminded him to bring his camera; the foliage and the views had been spectacular and he'd taken almost two hundred shots before they'd even gotten there. The dogs had yipped happily at each other in the back seat for the first thirty minutes of the trip, then, having exhausted themselves, they'd slept back-to-back the rest of the way.

The tone of the ride, and indeed, of the entire day, was light and companionable. No mention was made of their counterparts or their trip to Los Angeles, no hint that anything untoward or inappropriate had taken place on a picnic in Central Park. They were just two good friends, enjoying the day together, nothing more.

It was a pretense that allowed them to freely enjoy themselves, but they were in fact the only two people that day that would see them that way, as merely friends. Others caught what they did not: that they looked at each other in a certain way when one did not think the other was watching; that they seemed to go out of their way to avoid touching each other yet when they did that touch seemed to linger…

They were two people in love who just hadn't accepted it yet.

[SECTION BREAK]

Since the opening was a no-dogs-allowed affair, Kurt had arranged for a friend who lived in the area to take them for the afternoon. Beth only lived a few blocks from the museum and they stopped by her house, a lovely restored Victorian, to drop the dogs off first.

Kurt and Dave would be staying the night at the house of friend who was on sabbatical in Italy, and Beth would bring the dogs – and the key – and meet them later in the day after they'd had their fill of the museum. Kurt had wired her money earlier in the week and Beth had stocked up the kitchen so Kurt could cook dinner for him and Dave that night.

The retrospective opening was a huge success. The museum had done a fabulous job of bringing together a true representation of the Bechers' photographic catalog. Dave had been quite excited to see the show since many of the images had not been published or seen outside of Germany until now. At the charity gathering afterwards, Dave asked Frau Becher to autograph a book he'd bought earlier in the museum gift shop, and he was floored – and a little star struck – when she told him she remembered meeting him in Berlin so long ago. Kurt charmed the woman with his theories on the fashion sense of German opera heroines and afterwards, Frau Becher took Kurt aside and told him he had a _very_ handsome husband. Kurt had blushed like a fool, but didn't have the heart to tell her that they were only good friends.

Later, Kurt took Dave on a museum tour, sharing with him his favorite pieces – Heizer's _North, East, South, West, _a room-sized study in negative space, and Andy Warhol's _Shadows,_ a variation on a theme in a range of colors and across 100+ canvases. Dave was, naturally, most excited about the larger, architectural installations, like Richard Serra's football field length study of spiral-shaped interactive mazes somehow rendered in battleship-sized slabs of rusted, weathered iron and, outside in the sculpture park, Alexander Calder's _The Arch_, a massive iron structure created from brilliant red i-beams and no small amount of grace. But their shared favorite was Maya Lin's moving _Storm King Wavefield_, a field of sculpted mounds arranged like breaking waves on a beach.

As expected, Dave was excited about the aging industrial complex the museum was set in – an old Nabisco cookie factory – as well as the way the architect and curators had made use of the space and the surrounding landscape. The views of the Hudson and the brilliant foliage of the hills and mountains in the distance, had him spending more time with the camera in front of his face than not. Kurt stopped him at some point and suggested he save disc space for his friends' house, knowing Dave would find that fascinating, as well.

The afternoon had been wonderful – crisp air, gorgeous fall color, breathtaking modern art, and fabulous company.

More than the time they had spent together in the city, this day had been effortless; no fears, no constraints. Removed from their world and released into the larger whole, they were freed to be who they were. Together.

Neither said what both were thinking – that it had all felt incredibly…_Right._

Neither was ready to accept the reality that it felt right for a _reason…_

[SECTION BREAK]

When Kurt pulled into the driveway, he heard a quite gasp from the passenger seat and knew Dave had gotten a good glimpse of the house. Stunning and modern, it was all straight lines and angles, floor-to-ceiling windows opening the house up to the light and the views. Dave asked after the architect, but all Kurt knew was that he had been with a small local firm.

They found Beth inside, getting the dogs their dinner, and after a quick recap of their day, both for dogs and dog owners, they exchanged hugs (and Kurt got a long, questioning look), and Beth was on her way.

After getting Dave settled into his room (and giving each dog a brand new chewie to busy themselves with), Kurt gave him a tour of the house. It wasn't large, but was designed well, making smart use of space. Dave ran an appreciative hand along smooth white arches and support columns like a breeder would a good horse, storing away ideas for future projects; a nook near the entrance, carefully tucked into the supports of staircase, a loft skirting the living room/dining room/kitchen area that opened out onto the back of the house where a full balcony took in the hill sloping down to the river and the mountains on the far side beyond it. Dave marveled at its construction, how it was "green," but lost none of its charm to its efficiency.

With a faint blush, he confessed that _this_ was the type of house he had always wanted to design; one that was modern and smart and accessible. _Affordable. _He enjoyed the renovation and restoration work he did now, to be sure, the stately old buildings of New York were like museums themselves to him and it was an honor to have a hand in making them perfect once more, but to create something for what he called "regular people" (_"You know, like we used to be…"_), that was a true gift to leave for the world.

Again, it was Dave's passion for his work that Kurt found so appealing and he'd been treated to an unfiltered, live feed of it all day long. Feeling the ember in his chest suddenly start to spin, Kurt flushed, awkwardly covered it by making a joke about _his _true gift to the world – _dinner_ – and then started rummaging through cabinets for pots and pans.

When he saw Dave make a grab for his camera, about to wander off to photograph floor joists and sky lights, he hefted an oversized wooden spoon in one hand and ordered him back into the kitchen. (_"You don't help, you don't eat."_) Saluting crisply, Dave stood awaiting orders, but not before taking a picture of Kurt waving the spoon and looking dictatorial. Kurt made a half-hearted attempt at complaint, but was more thrilled than anything else, despite the state of his hair after a day in the winds of October.

Thirty minutes later and the salmon was poaching in white wine and garlic, sous chef Dave had done a credible job with the salad and the tomato dice for the corn and pesto dish, and Kurt was pouring them each a glass of chardonnay. As Kurt took his first sip, Dave grabbed a loaf of fresh Italian bread and starting chopping garlic. Before Kurt could ask, Dave said that his mother had always told him he should know how to make at least one dish well – that way you can always contribute to a meal. Dave's specialty? Garlic bread. Kurt watched in fascination as Dave simmered butter, garlic and white wine together with fresh oregano, thyme, and rosemary, then dipped bias cut bread in the mixture. Once they were all laid out on a cookie sheet, he grated generous amounts of fresh parmesan over the top and told Kurt to give him a five minute warning on when dinner would be ready.

Much to both of their surprise, rather than being little begging nuisances in the kitchen, both dogs had chewed happily for a while, tussled happily with each other for a while, and then, exhausted from their big adventure, had both fallen asleep under the dining room table.

Kurt and Dave drank wine in a relaxed silence as music from Kurt's iPod – Debussy, Mozart, and vintage Adele, circa 2011 – filled the house.

Dave watched Kurt half-dance as he set the table, crooning unselfconsciously in that clear, smooth voice that gave Dave chills and made his heart do funny things in his chest. It was more than just that Kurt Hummel was this beautiful, passionate, caring man or that that caring man had become his close friend; it was the realization that this feeling he was feeling, this growing, pleasant _ache_ in his chest, was bringing Dave dangerously close to a thing he had given up thinking he could ever be – _happy. _

Was this what life was supposed to be like? He thought that it was. He didn't have that now, not outside of whatever it was that was happening here, and it was going to make going home, where life was _not _like this, a very hard thing…

As for Kurt, he'd run out of doubt a long time ago; he knew _exactly_ how he felt.

Watching Dave fuss over the stove – tall, broad shouldered Dave hunkered over a tiny saucepot, stirring to keep the garlic from burning – had touched him in so many ways, not least of which was that Blaine had never so much as boiled _water_ for Kurt's tea. Not only had he and Blaine never prepared a meal together, Blaine had never stayed in the kitchen to keep Kurt company while he did.

Perhaps that wasn't enough of a reason to feel how he was feeling, but it wasn't the _only_ reason he felt that way. The others were, as it turns out, too numerous to name, not at a time when the sight of those broad shoulders, the man's unconscious surprisingly melodic humming, and the memory of the concern in his warm hazel eyes, was making Kurt's heart skip a beat.

This, _this _was what it was supposed to feel like. This was what it meant to be _happy_.

He thought he might know how to make Dave admit that he felt it, too.

When the time was right.

Which wasn't while they were eyeballing the broiler to keep from burning what turned out to be the best garlic bread ever made (and a toast to Joan Karofsky was forthcoming!) and it wasn't while they were eating salmon and grooving to the Rolling Stones that Kurt had forgotten he had on his playlist.

Soon, though.

Kurt knew wouldn't be able to wait much longer…

[SECTION BREAK]

They'd been sitting on the back porch, drinking wine and watching an amazingly bright new moon illuminate the clouds and the river far below, when a stiff breeze off the water got the better of Kurt's cotton sweater, sending a shiver through him that Dave could feel through the wooden slats of the glider they were sharing.

"That's it," he said, getting up and taking Kurt's wine glass from him.

"You're cutting me off," Kurt asked, confused.

"Nope, I'm making a fire. C'mon, let's get you inside before I'm programming the GPS for the nearest hospital." Sliding the glass door open, he gestured _'IN!'_ to Kurt, and Kurt, grumbling and grinning at the same time, obliged, stepping through the door to the house's somewhat chilly interior.

"Guess I should check the thermostat," he said a little unsteadily. They were well into their second bottle of wine by now. "I bet it's colder upstairs."

Grabbing a throw from the back of the couch, Kurt wrapped himself up and went in search of the box while Dave collected an armful of wood off the back porch.

"_Found it_," Kurt cried from the front hall.

A moment later, Dave heard him murmuring something to the dogs, the frantic clicking of two sets of nails on tile, then much enthusiastic snuffling; Kurt must have thrown them out a handful of treats.

"I'm heading up to get a pair of warmer socks," Kurt's voice rang from the stairs. "Do you want anything while I'm up there?"

"I'm good. Thanks," Dave called back.

He was glad to have these few minutes alone; his head was spinning and not just from the wine, of which he had consumed far too much.

The whole day had been undeniably wonderful, but was he letting this taste of a so-called normal life allow him to believe that he could have it to keep? Nothing had changed _outside_ of this little bubble they found themselves in, but more and more his heart was telling him that it just didn't care. But that wasn't right and he knew it and the turmoil it was creating in him was making him feel as though he were losing control of himself; that bad things were going to happen. Again.

To steady himself, Dave focused on the task at hand.

He knelt at the hearth, inhaling the good smells of past fires. He'd always loved how making a fire could be a lot like designing a building, never mind that you were designing that structure to be destroyed, instead of stand firm and strong. Carefully laying out and stacking the wood to facilitate airflow, he layered in newspaper and dried moss to help the wood catch.

He was so focused on his work it wasn't until he sat back before a healthy, blazing fire that he realized Kurt had been sitting on the couch behind him for a while, curled up with a blanket, wine glass in hand, watching him wistfully.

Kurt absently started picking at the nubby weave of the blanket, his expression shifting smoothly, but not before Dave was able to register its significance.

Two impulses were fighting each other inside him; one to bid Kurt a good night and head upstairs to bed, the other to face him, to face whatever this was head-on, and see what it meant.

Dave listened to the arguments for a moment longer as the fire popped and snapped behind him then, taking a long, slow breath, he rose from the floor and sat down on the couch next to Kurt.

"Dave…"

"_Kurt,_" Dave whispered, feeling himself done in already, just from the sound of his own name. "Just _say_ it."

Kurt blinked innocently, but there was color in his cheeks. "Say _what_?"

Kurt had left him a glass of wine and he took a mouthful, swallowed it too quickly. "Say what you're thinking," he said, throat burning.

Kurt looked at him, the slightest hint of confusion wrinkling his brow and then, without hesitation…

"_I'm falling in love with you, David." _

His breath caught in his burning throat, setting him to coughing for a moment, but when he'd recovered he just shook his head, silent.

"You _know_ you feel the same way," Kurt whispered.

Dave wanted to deny it, but who was he fooling? Not Kurt, certainly. Only himself.

_Fool…_

"It doesn't matter _how _I feel," he said softly and when he looked up, Kurt was regarding him with such tenderness, it made his heart hurt more.

"Because you made a promise. I know." Kurt was nodding, as he leaned forward, pressed his hand to Dave's arm. "I have so much respect for you, for how seriously you take your commitments, but _David_," he said, pulling gently. "What about _you?_ What about _your_ happiness?"

Dave met those wide, blue-grey eyes. "What about me? What about _you?_ Are you really prepared to leave Blaine?"

Kurt laughed once, crisp and high, as he looked at Dave across the bowl of his glass. "How can you leave someone who's never _there_? I rather think that decision was made for me a long time ago, Dave, and I've just been too stupid, too stubborn, or…" Bitterness seemed to collect on his brow like storm clouds. "…too fucking _scared_ to see it.

Dave took another swallow of wine. This one went down easier.

"I know that, Kurt, and I feel for you, but that is _not_ my situation at all."

"Oh, really," Kurt asked. "Why, because she put you back together after Greg broke you into pieces?"

Shocked, Dave was about to respond when Kurt jumped right back into it.

"And I've had enough of you taking all the blame here, David – you're not some all-powerful god, you know. _He was there, too_; he was as much responsible for what happened as you were." Angry now, Kurt was shaking his head. "If he'd been a real friend, a real _man_, he would have told you why he left – and apologized to _you_. He didn't do that and that makes him the loser, _not you_."

Dave was dumbstruck.

"Kurt," he began, but was cut off.

"No, no, I'm not done yet," Kurt said with a finger wave. "Let's _talk_ about Gwen, shall we? Yes, she put broken Dave back together and she _saved_ you're life, but is that really any reason to give her the _rest_ of it? You two are living as _brother and sister_. Don't you see that? Don't you think there's something strange there? That she knows who and what you are – _and she doesn't care_? Doesn't that seem weird to you?"

"What am I, an _idiot_," Dave growled. "Of _course_ it does, I think about that all the time, but that doesn't change the fact that _I owe her_."

Kurt rolled his eyes, teeth grit. "You owe her, you _owe_ her! I'm tired of hearing that." He knocked back the rest of his wine, then set the glass unsteadily on the coffee table. "_You_ helped her get what she needed from her father – I think you've paid her back already. With _interest._"

He knew that. He _knew _that.

He also knew, not that he had ever wanted to admit it to himself, that his reluctance, his unwillingness to let go of Gwen – and the relative stability a life with her offered – had more to do with his fear of not just going it alone, but of fully accepting _"that"_ part of himself. Of being that person; a _gay_ person.

Gwen was his ticket to normal, as fucked up as that sounded.

"Have you ever stopped to wonder what she might be hiding," Kurt asked voice a little calmer now.

Dave shook his head, too quickly, he knew.

Again, of _course_ he had.

He'd had plenty of time to wonder where she went at night, what she did when she wasn't with clients, or her father, or him. She would come back at night and walk past his bedroom, and even with the door closed, he could smell a scent that wasn't hers. Did he question her? No, he didn't. She had, after all, accepted a lot from _him _without question. But still, it remained; who was Gwen Reynolds _really?_

"No. No I haven't," he said, hoarse.

Kurt's eyes narrowed, picking up sparks from the fire. "Liar."

Dave sighed. "Fine, but it doesn't matter."

Kurt let out his own frustrated sigh. "Why?"

Dave knew he'd _made_ this choice, to stay and talk and figure this all out instead of just going to bed like the accomplished coward that he was, but now he wasn't so sure he was ready. Desperate, he searched for straws to grasp…

"B-because I don't go back on my word. Because I said I would be there for her."

Suddenly the picture of composure, Kurt regarded him coolly.

"Let me pose a hypothetical; what would you do if she told you you were free?" He leaned forward, expression dead serious. "What would you do _then_?"

"Wh-what? What point is there in even thinking about it?"

Kurt continued, face suddenly flushed. "If she told you she didn't need you to make her look respectable anymore, that you were free to do and be whatever and whoever you wanted, what would you do then, Dave?"

Dave tried, but he couldn't stop himself, couldn't block it out…

The scenario took hold of him, took root like one of Jack's beans, unfurling itself all at once, sending tendrils throughout his brain, down into his chest, squeezing, _speeding_ his heart. He could feel his face growing dangerously warm, his head starting to spin.

"Tell me you don't have feelings for me, David," Kurt said and this time his voice is gentle. "_Tell me."_

He couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

"I-it doesn't matter…I…I _can't_…"

He wondered how it was that he'd lost it so quickly – his control.

Maybe he never had it to begin with.

He felt Kurt move in closer.

"I _am_, David," he said softly, nodding. "I'm in _love_ with you – and I know you feel the same way. I _know _it."

_I'm in love with you…_

Dave was shaking his head, unwilling to accept what he did not deserve, because really, he didn't. He _didn't_.

He heard Kurt take a breath, even over the crackling of the fire.

"I know I promised not to do this, but hear me out: _kiss me_. Just once. So we know."

Dave didn't want to look, but he couldn't help himself anymore; Kurt's expression, the heat in his eyes, the way even his posture revealed his emotions.

"Can't we have just one kiss where neither one of us is _surprised_?" A smile tweaked the corners of Kurt's mouth. "Kiss me _once_ and if you can tell me you don't feel anything for me, that you don't want to _be_ with me, I will disappear from your life and you'll never have to deal with me again." He traced a finger in an 'X' over his heart. "_I swear._"

Dave wanted to remind him this wasn't the first time he'd sworn to something he couldn't keep, but right then, he couldn't tear his eyes away from Kurt's mouth.

He'd had dreams about those lips – soft, _sweet_ nightmares – and now there they were moving closer. _Slowly…_

Kurt was close enough now that he could smell the almond of his shampoo and the clean sweet scent of his skin and…

And Dave was _lost_.

Hands sliding over Kurt's face, one slipping deep into all that hair, Dave caught the elation as it registered on Kurt's face, and then he was aware of nothing but the sweetness of those lips against his, tongue searching, Kurt's hands on his face, on his back, pulling him in, pulling him close.

This time, Dave _recognized_ the "switch" and he was ready for it when it flipped.

Fourteen years of longing and of love (because he was being honest now and this _"loving Kurt"_ thing was not new to him), of hunger and adoration and denial, and here they were, mutually, _at the same time_.

Dave's hands were at Kurt's back, guiding him down flat against the couch, and Kurt's wonder of a mouth was worrying at a sensitive spot on Dave's neck, his tongue tracing along the hollow of Dave's throat, and at the juncture of shoulder and neck. Dave's heart was beating like a drum in his ear, frantic and jubilant, crazed and happy all at once, and as he settled against Kurt, against the long smooth planes of him, Dave let out a slow, awed breath; all he could feel was pure and utter _relief._

"Kurt," he whispered.

"_Dave…_" came the smiling response.

tbc…

[SECTION BREAK]

References (_art only_)

Bernd and Hilla Becher, _Water Towers_

Michael Heizer, _North, East, South, West_, 1967/2002. Dia Art Foundation;  
>gift of Lannan Foundation. Photo: Tom Vinetz.<p>

Maya Lin, _Storm King Wavefield, _2007-08.

12


	8. Chapter 8

**Story: **Someone Like You – 8/8

**Fandom:** Glee – Written for the Kurtofsky Reverse Bang  
><strong>Author:<strong> ibshafer  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R – for language and non-explicit sexual situations  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Kurt, Dave, Blaine, "OC" Gwen

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these people, they own themselves and are just nice enough to let me spin them around the page now and then.

**Summary:** [Written for the kurtofskyrebang using jennybliss's art and story concept.] In the end, Kurt got everything he wanted out of life and Dave fulfilled his own dreams, so why aren't they happy? A chance encounter in NYC brings the boys together again after many years. Can they help each other deal with their pasts (and their futures) and finally figure out what they truly need to be happy?

**Length:** 30,000+

**Feedback: **_Yes, of course! I'm like Tinkerbell (and Rachel Berry) – I need your applause (and hopefully not your rotten tomatoes!) to live…_

**A/N: **_Thanks again to The Rain Girl, Aetheriata, Vankoss, GayforKurt, silje24, LizzyPoodle(!), and PowerLad! And to everyone who __favorited and alerted me/the story! You guys are the best! _

Someone Like You – 8/8

_~ibshafer_

[_From the previous part…_]

_Kurt was close enough now that he could smell the almond of his shampoo and the clean sweet scent of his skin and…_

_And Dave was lost. _

_Hands sliding over Kurt's face, one slipping deep into all that hair, Dave caught the elation as it registered on Kurt's face, and then he was aware of nothing but the sweetness of those lips against his, tongue searching, Kurt's hands on his face, on his back, pulling him in, pulling him close._

_This time, Dave recognized the "switch" and he was ready for it when it flipped. _

_Fourteen years of longing and of love (because he was being honest now and this "loving Kurt" thing was not new to him), of hunger and adoration and denial, and here they were, mutually, at the same time._

_Dave's hands were at Kurt's back, guiding him down flat against the couch, and Kurt's wonder of a mouth was worrying at a sensitive spot on Dave's neck, his tongue tracing along the hollow of Dave's throat, and at the juncture of shoulder and neck. Dave's heart was beating like a drum in his ear, frantic and jubilant, crazed and happy all at once, and as he settled against Kurt, against the long smooth planes of him, Dave let out a slow, awed breath; all he could feel was pure and utter relief._

"_Kurt," he whispered._

"_Dave…" came the smiling response. _

[SECTION BREAK]

A heated moan of surrender – whose? Who knew?

Greedy kisses, a tongue tracing along another, hands seeking and finding skin, fingers running over smooth hard planes, slipping lower…

Bodies arched against one another, a whispered declaration and kisses once again, mouth against mouth, hungry, desperate.

Hands unsure, determined, tracing lower still, releasing fastenings, slipping deep inside, laughing in wonder while sweet lips kissed tears from flushed cheeks, breathed reassurances and adoration.

Finally free to feel fully, clear of mind and heart, staring in awe as pale hands freed that which was more tangible than mind and heart, gasping in surprise and need and wonder, suddenly certain, suddenly _sure_; skin sliding against skin, breath and cries mingled, pleasure and love inseparable, perfection—

The sound of Dave's phone trilling the arrival of text message sent him sprawling nearly out of bed.

He groped for it, saw it was from Gwen, then dropped back against the bedding, wide palm slapped over his burning eyes; guilty as if he had been caught, as if something really _had_ happened.

_Damn dreams…_

As if he hadn't, after surrendering to what he was feeling, suddenly come to his senses and hurt the last person in the world he would ever have wanted to. _Again._

'…_I'm sorry, Kurt, but…but I just can't. If things were different…'_

'_Fuck you, Karofsky. Fuck you…'_

_He's right – fuck me. _

_I really _am_ dog shit._

As if hearing Dave's miserable thoughts, Jesse stirred in his sleep, a ghostly mound of black and grey white, shining in the moonlight streaming through the window.

_Ah, god, how could I have done that to him? _

Dave knew Kurt had been mad, how could he not have been, but what the man seemed, more than anything else, was _broken_; like he'd offered up his heart and his soul to Dave, and Dave had taken them both and played with them for a moment, and then thrown them on the floor where they'd shattered.

After that, Kurt hadn't been interested in anything more Dave might have had to say, not that he loved him, not that he _wanted_ to be with him. All Kurt would remember of this night was that Dave was a coward and a fraud. And Dave accepted that, owned both outright, and hated himself intensely for it.

Because he'd made a commitment to a woman who might or might not even love him.

_Gwen…_

Unable to stall any longer, and afraid another text's trilling might wake Kurt in the other room (if it hadn't already), Dave unlocked his phone and pulled up his messages…

…and was instantly freaked.

Over the last three hours, Gwen had left a handful of voice mails and ten, fifteen, no – twenty text messages!

Before he'd crawled into bed, he'd turned his ring-tone to 'silent', not wanting to wake Kurt, but had forgotten to do the same for his text alert. Somehow, he'd been so deep in sleep, he hadn't heard it until this the last had come in just now.

Feeling his stomach clench, the guilt almost palpable, he looked up to make sure the door was completely closed, then read the first text message.

_*WHERE R U! Been trying since 10pm r time! Tried office. Tried home. Tried cell. No luck! CALL ME NOW!*_

_Shit! _

Did she know something? _Could _she know something? Between their housekeeper and Kurt and Blaine's, and _shit! _there was Celie and Miri, and his entire office, really, someone _could_ have said something to someone who…

But they weren't _doing_ anything! They just met for lunch and dinner sometimes. They were just _friends._

Except that now, well, he didn't know _what_ they were now, but they certainly weren't friends anymore…

Screwing up his courage, Dave scrolled down to his voice mail and queued up the first, this one at 1:05 am.

"_Dave? I just tried you at home and got no answer. It's after 1 am there. Where are you?"_

1:20 am:

"_David. I don't know what's going on, but I just tried your office and got some canned message about the phone system being down. Are you there working? Where are you? Call me immediately. It's URGENT."_

2:00 am:

"_Look, we're chartering a plane and coming home tonight, or well, this morning. I have…I have to talk to you immediately, David. Please don't talk to anyone else before you call me. We'll be there _[fumbling, sounds of airport announcements] _at 9 am your time. No baggage claim so I should be home by 9:45 at the latest. I… Call me as soon as you get this."_

That was the last voice mail.

Pulling up his text messages again, Dave grabbed the first one after that.

2:15 am:

_*Knowing u, u turned off yr ringer, but u always forget the text alert. Answer me ASAP.*_

2:30 am:

_*R U around? What r u doing, D? I need 2 talk 2 u NOW. Text, call – NOW.*_

From 2:45 to 3:45 they were pretty much the same, growing increasingly more impatient and annoyed as they progressed.

All that wine must have disrupted his usual sleep cycle, most nights he slept 8 hours without waking up once; thank goodness he'd heard that 4 am text.

_*WHERE R U! Been trying since 10pm r time! Tried office. Tried home. Tried cell. No luck! CALL ME!*_

_Fuck…_

Well, guilty conscience or not, he was _not _going to call her now, even though her plane hadn't taken off yet. He was notgoing to risk waking Kurt, whom he'd heard tossing and turning in that big wrought iron bed for more than an hour before he had finally settled down and, Dave hoped, slept.

Sitting up, composing himself, composing his _lie_, he texted her back.

*Sorry, G. Fell asleep desk again. Rothman reno a bear. Didn't hear phone. What's wrong?*

The response was almost immediate.

_*Finally! Been freaking out out here. Glad ur ok. We'll talk when I get home.*_

Blood running cold, but not wanting to push it, he responded simply.

*OK, c u L8r.*

Another quick answer.

_*D – don't talk to anyone until I get home, OK? I'll explain when I see you.*_

Cryptic and not at all reassuring…

*OK.*

Her last text was short and more than a little confusing.

_*Good. Love you, D.*_

_She loves me?_

Is that what someone who's caught their fiancé cheating and wants to put a beatin' on him says?

Dave was too exhausted, too hung over, too fucking _heartsick_ to make sense of it now.

Looking at his watch – it was 4:20 – he knew they were going to have to book it to make it home before their, how did Kurt put it? Before there _'not-insignificant others'_ got home from the west coast.

Dave wondered if she'd notice if he drank a quart of scotch before she got there…

Now, though, _now…_

Now Dave had to wake Kurt and tell him they had to get their cheating asses back to New York before their sham partners got home to dump them for their not-cheating. Or, well, nearly cheating? Falling in love, at least?

Fuck, no matter how you looked at it, it was going to be bad, bad, _bad_.

Grabbing his sweats from the back of the chair – he'd gone to bed in his underwear, too upset with himself to bother with more – he pulled them on and navigated his way into the hall.

And stopped short.

Kurt's light was on.

Before the guilt of also causing Kurt a sleepless night could set in, Kurt had opened his door, hair disheveled – but god, Dave wanted to touch it – squinting and holding his phone.

"We have to leave – now. I just heard from Blaine." His voice was raw, his eyes, what Dave could see of them, were red. Dave couldn't tell if he'd been crying or if he was just hung over, but whichever it was, he wasn't happy.

Dave was nodding. "I know. I just talked to Gwen. Do you think they…" He trailed off, unable to say more.

Kurt grunted, scrubbing his face with his hands. "I don't know. He sounded weird. It's possible." Kurt grabbed his stomach suddenly. "I'm gonna puke…" Running into the bathroom, he retched into the commode.

Dave watched him quietly, hesitant, then went to the sink and got him some water.

"Feel better," he asked, handing Kurt the glass.

Kurt didn't look at him, but took it with a curt nod of thanks.

Dave just stood there, aching to say more, aching to touch him.

"Kurt, look, I'm s—"

"No, no. No talking," he muttered, shaking his head, then steadying himself on the sink. "We're going to pack and then we're going to leave. And I'm not interested in hearing anything you have to say."

Chastened, Dave nodded. "I'll drive."

"Good, because I will either be sleeping or throwing up."

Dave had to stop himself from smiling; it was just such a typical Kurt thing to say – even in his misery.

Even in _Dave's _misery. Even in his guilt – at what he'd done to Kurt, at what he'd done to, or been about to do, to Gwen.

He really, really was starting to hate himself. _Again_.

First things first, though; get Kurt home.

[SECTION BREAK]

They were on the road by 5 am, Kurt sacked out in the passenger seat clutching a gallon-sized Ziploc (hidden in a plastic Wal-Mart bag) like a life preserver. Thankfully, the dogs had been cooperative, both peeing and pooping for Dave, then jumping into the back seat and falling right back to sleep.

Noticing the gas gauge was dangerously close to a quarter of a tank, Dave had stopped at a mini-mart to fill up.

This early, the sun wasn't up yet and the October morning was damp and cold. He'd left his gloves in the car, but didn't want to risk waking Kurt to get them, so he stood at the pumps, switching off hands every so often, shoving the one that was free deep in a pocket for warmth. A hybrid, the big SUV's tank still seemed to take a lot of gas, and he felt like he was standing there forever.

Dave had paid at the pump, but his hands and his exhaustion demanded a hot cup of whatever they called coffee in there, so he made his way into the shop.

Five minutes later, he stumbled out shell-shocked, carrying two cups and a bag with a buttered roll, a bagel, and a folded up _tabloid_ in it…

Kurt looked so peaceful, finally comfortably asleep after the last time he'd vomited…but Dave knew he had no choice. He had to wake him.

Pulling into an empty space near a light post, he took a deep breath, and put his hand on Kurt's arm, shaking him very, very gently.

"_Uugh…_" Kurt mumbled. "I told you, _no talking._ Even if the car is on _fire_, no talking. You don't get to talk, Dave, _got it_?"

_Now_ Dave laughed, but softly.

"I remember my orders, Captain, but I have something you really have to see – _right now._"

"_Right now_?" Kurt passed a hand blearily over his eyes. "Why does it have to be _right now_?" Looking up and seeing Dave peering at him with concern, he reached out and flailed a hand at him, managing to connect with Dave's arm, barely.

"_Because_," Dave said, not sure _himself_ how he felt about what he had to show Kurt. "Because it's the real reason why we're driving home at 5 o'clock in the morning."

Kurt opened both eyes to look at Dave, confusion and nausea making a colorful mix on his pale face.

"I know it's in not my usual flawless syntax, Dave, but what-the-actual-_fuck_ are you talking about?"

_There _he is.

Pulling the tabloid out of the plastic bag, he opened it and held it up against the dashboard for Kurt to see.

Kurt grunted once in irritation then turned to squint at it.

There, on the cover of the _Hollywood Enquirer_, was a pair of dimly lit yet clearly discernable photos of…_their not-insignificant others_.

The caption read, **"BROADWAY GAY AND LADY LAWYER CAUGHT AT HOLLYWOOD ORGY."**

The images had been heavily masked with black bars to protect those with _delicate_ sensibilities, but there was no mistaking Blaine and Gwen, each tangled naked with an equally naked counterpart. Blaine was waving a hand at the camera, vainly trying to block himself from the shot. Gwen, on the other hand, was looking straight at the lens, a smile that was somehow _proud _curving her full lips.

Dave had had to turn the paper sideways and stare for a minute to figure out what was off, or well, what was _unexpected _about the picture. (Other than the fact that there _was_ a picture, that is.)

It wasn't that she'd been caught naked and smiling about it on camera, and it most certainly wasn't that she'd been caught boffing some sun-tanned Hollywood B-list Adonis, because it _wasn't_ some sun-tanned Hollywood B-list Adonis. Or even a D-List Adonis. Or an industry big-wig. Or a muscle dude with a guitar and a garage band. Because it wasn't any kind of dude at _all_.

Gwen Reynolds, Cheshire cat grin and all, had been caught at a big Hollywood orgy having sex with a _woman._ And not just _any _woman, but a rising starlet who'd been cast as the lead in the very film Blaine had been brought out to read for.

Dave didn't know whether he should be screaming, angry, or laughing his ass off. (Or thanking _someone _up there because clearly, They had been listening to his prayers tonight…) This simplified things, didn't it? Or did it just make it worse?

_I knew it all along, though, didn't I? How could I not?_

He wasn't so stunned by the revelation that his fiancée was a lesbian, though, that he couldn't think outside his own box, as it were. _To Kurt's…_

_Shit…_

Blaine had faired only slightly better on that cover, but that was only because the picture limited his revelatory transgressions to a single one (_Cheater!_); Blaine, as it turned out, was having an affair with his _bodyguard_, according to the caption anyway, but at least said bodyguard was of the expected gender. The guy was a big, _beefy_ brute, too_. _

_Blaine likes Bears, eh? That explains a lot…_

More than a little worried for him, Dave looked from the tabloid to Kurt's face, not sure what he'd find there, but Kurt's response was _no _response at all. (Though, Dave realized, than in itself was a response…) If it weren't for the faint hint of high color in Kurt's pallid cheeks, Dave wouldn't have been certain he'd actually even looked at the picture.

_I'm such an asshole…_

While he'd been cracking jokes in his head about Bears and beefy brutes, Kurt's world had fallen in on him.

How could this have _not _been devastating to Kurt; no matter how he'd been hurt by Blaine these past few years, no matter how he felt about Dave (and even Dave didn't know now), some part of him _still loved Blaine._ And Blaine had betrayed him, had_ been_ betraying him for who knew how long? What's more, he had betrayed Kurt in a very tawdry and public way; betrayed and humiliated him.

Dave wanted to say something, wanted to touch Kurt, wanted to find some way to protect him and make this right, but right now, the best thing he could do for him was to let him deal in his own way.

And take him home.

Setting the coffee and the roll in the cup holder on Kurt's side of the car in case he was up to them, Dave turned off the dome light, shoving the tabloid into the door pocket. As gently as he could, he got them back onto the road, and after that, onto the highway.

Kurt stirred a few times during the trip back to New York, but Dave doubted that he slept much. At least he was done with the vomiting, though he touched neither the coffee nor the roll.

At this hour, the traffic into the city was fairly light and they made good time.

Dave pulled up in front of the San Remo and, realizing that Kurt was actually _finally_ asleep, he parked on the street, got out quietly, got the _dogs _out quietly, and took them for a quick walk a few feet away. Coming back to the car, he opened the passenger side and damning the circumstances (and _himself_), kissed Kurt gently on the forehead, rubbing his arms slowly until he woke up. Kurt looked a little surprised to see Dave standing so closely, but was also clearly too done in to care at the moment.

Dave insisted on going up to the apartment with him and though Kurt looked like he wanted to argue the point, he clearly didn't have the energy or the heart. Carrying both their bags in one hand and holding the leashes in the other, Dave guided Kurt from the parking garage to the elevator.

Once there, Kurt let Dave unlock the apartment door, Dave still had the keys, after all, but he declined Dave's offered help to get settled in. Dropping Kurt's bag in the foyer – where Dave fully expected it would sit for days – he handed Fiyero's leash over and with the briefest pause, turned to leave.

Just before the door, he was stopped by Kurt's hand on his arm and though he remained silent, his expression as blank as it had been since they'd left Beacon, he looked Dave in the eye – one count, two counts, three counts – then was turning away again.

Dave watched him trudge down the hallway (to his bedroom, Dave hoped), and wondered if he would be okay. For a split second, he considered staying for a while, finding a book and sitting in the living room, just in case Kurt needed something, but then he remembered he had his own…what_ever_ you want to call what this awful situation was, arriving home in – he checked his watch – _an hour and a half,_ and he had to go.

Making sure the door was locked, he pulled at Jesse's leash – he was sniffing for crumbs around Fiyero's dish – and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Catching a cab back to the Shelly, Dave wondered how this would all shake out, what it would mean for each of them.

He was certain of nothing right now, but that at the very least, he knew he wouldn't be getting _married_ any time soon…

[SECTION BREAK]

The story stayed in the news for one full week – until it was eclipsed by word of Lindsay Lohan's drunken crime spree at a Neiman Marcus in downtown Los Angeles.

During that time, the guilty pair was featured in every tabloid in the country, and some overseas, naturally, but the worst of the coverage, the most relentless and bloodthirsty, came from the New York City tabloids who felt they had rightful ownership of the scandal because the players lived there, and they set about to prove that with a sleazy war of words.

That two people in apparently happy relationships had strayed and cheated under the influence of Hollywood's bright lights was not a news flash.

The revelation that _one _of thosecouples, the one that had been celebrated for the last two years as shining example of a committed and loving gay marriage, had never actually _been _married, and that the marriage had in fact been a sham and a promotional ploy, was attacked by both the Right and the Left, and by free press everywhere.

The other couple (_so-called_ couple) involved in the scandal, had (coincidentally?) been perpetrating a sham relationship, as well, with perhaps a similar motivation; _family_ acceptance in this case, not public. The ruse had been perpetrated this time to _cover_ someone's homosexuality, but when new information came to light from an "undisclosed" source that the "injured" half of this couple was also, in fact, gay, the media practically creamed itself with joy.

Cameras followed allfour of them wherever they went – the tabloids, the legitimate press, the networks. By Tuesday, when the photographers and cable news grunts were out in full force, both Kurt and Dave had opted to work from home. (Though in Kurt's case, it was more like _"rage and throw Blaine's belongings into the hallway."_)

The response from the press was typically thorough and obsessive, as it was to anything deemed "newsworthy" by virtue of its unfortunate impact on the individuals involved.

Of the four, judgment seemed to be lightest on Kurt. Articles labeled him as _"naïve" _and _"sad," _while one focused entirely on his work and, of all things, on his physical attributes calling him _"haunting," "willowy," _and_ "androgynous."_

Judgment of Dave was, naturally, harsher; he was described as everything from _"hapless" _and _"clueless,"_ to _"complicit" _and _"dishonest."_ It was the gay press, though, that _really _had a field day with Dave, accusing him of being _"a self-hating closeted homophobe afraid of __himself__"_ and calling him _"a delusional rube who knowingly let the wool be pulled over his own eyes." _

And this was the comparably milder treatment of the "good guys" in this story…

The press's response to the guiltier half was, as would be expected, more venomous, gleeful, even, and as vindicating and _entertaining_ as that vitriol might be, it is not actually relevant to the telling of _this_ particular story, the story of Kurt and Dave. It need only be said that cameras followed Blaine, sporting a shiny new bodyguard, into the Gershwin every day, that they were waiting for Gwen at her office building in the morning, and that the swarm of them camped out in front of the San Remo and the Shelly Netherland were a nuisance and a hindrance to all four of them…

And of the personal fall-out?

Dave, having finally acknowledged his feelings and his identity, sat Gwen down and told her about Kurt. All of it. She only seemed mildly surprised by the story and then only because she hadn't realized Dave and Kurt knew each other.

They were able to speak with surprising rationality, despite Dave's humiliation at discovering just what kind of beard he'd been all these years. He understood her motivation, though not how far she'd been willing to go with it or the fact that she'd also been willing to let _him_ continue to deny who he was when _she_ was living her life, in secret anyway, as she wished. For that, and perhaps for a few other things, he would never quite forgive her.

But they parted amicably enough, fortunate in that for all the betrayal this scandal was steeped in, neither had, in fact, betrayed their true feelings for the other; they really _were _more like brother and sister.

Bloodied from the fray, but still strong in her conviction, Gwen was heading out to Chicago to see her father then back out to Los Angeles where, it turns out, her long-time girlfriend was waiting for her.

Before she left, she'd hugged Dave hard and told him she would always feel love for him and always owe him a debt of gratitude. She also made it clear to him that he had _paid_ the debt he seemed to think he owed his past – that he deserved to be happy now. She made him promise that from now on, he would do what made himhappiest – and if that was being with Kurt, then _he'd better not let him go._

Dave had promised her he would, but in his heart, he knew he no longer had that right.

As for Kurt, once the hangover and shock had worn off, which by coincidence occurred the moment Blaine walked through the front door, _Kurt found his mad. _

Before Blaine could spin the story as he'd been hoping to (_"we'd just been _swimming_, babe, and since no one had brought trunks…" "I didn't _know _he had a thing for me, Kurt, and I fired him the minute I found out…" _Blah, blah, blah…), Kurt lit into him, letting out two years' (_ten_, really) worth of repressed resentment, bitten tongues, and bent-over-backwards "allowances." He accused Blaine of betraying Kurt's love and trust, of using him to "gay-up" his image, of always _always _thinking of himself first, and for being the worst boyfriend in the history of homosexuality. (Which was saying something.)

He demanded Blaine get his duplicitous ass out of the apartment and not to worry about his things since they would all be in the hallway by the end of the week and he could bring his hired fuck-buddy over to help him drag it all away.

Blaine, to his surprising credit, didn't argue any of this, mostly because he had not a leg to stand on. Before he left, he whistled and grabbed Fiyero's leash from the brass hook by the door – the dog, after all, had been _his _choice – at which point Kurt told him that the tiny poodle was _not _one of the things Blaine could take with him…

Over the next week, a week in which both Kurt and Dave were, for all intents and purposes, housebound, each did what they could to put their affairs in order. Kurt cleansed the apartment of signs of the _"infidel dog"_ and Dave made phone calls in search of a new apartment. (This one belonged to Gwen's father, after all…)

They thought of each other often during that week, with sadness and not a little regret, but neither had the strength to call the other and each respected the turmoil the other no doubt was going through.

Their feelings for _each other_, and the impact the turmoil – and the drama that had preceded it – would have on those feelings, remained to be seen.

Perhaps, when the dust settled…

[SECTION BREAK]

On a clear day, unseasonably warm for early November, he'd come to the park, dog in tow, to sit on a bench for a while.

He'd sent a text before he'd come and though he'd gotten no response, he'd come out anyway.

After all, the dog needed to be walked, regardless.

And so he was surprised to suddenly find himself not alone on that bench.

As the dogs yipped their joy at being reunited after so long, because two weeks is unbearably long in dog-years, they quietly sat and watched them play, neither speaking, but both sitting closely on that familiar bench.

And when, after a few minutes, pale fingers reached across the worn slats and threaded themselves through the strong hand they found there, still no words were exchanged, though flushed faces now smiled faintly.

They sat that way for some time, as the dogs, now exhausted, lay sleeping at their feet, and when the sun started to dip lower on the horizon, spreading pink and gold along the tree line, they rose silently, roused the dogs, smiled to each other, and headed off together out of the park.

_Fini_

[**A/N:** _As a special thanks to all of you who commented and read and favorited, here is a tiny piece of the next chapter… I'm not sure how far I'm going to go with this, but if nothing else, I owe you all a lemon… _]

Epilogue - Someone (Exactly) Like You

_~ibshafer_

There had been no agenda, no signal, no expectation from either of them.

Hand in hand, dogs walking excitedly ahead of them (it _was _dinnertime, after all, even if one of them was unfamiliar with the route they were taking), they simply crossed the street after they left the park, as though it were the most natural thing for them to do.

Across 59th Street.

To the Shelly Netherland…

_tbc…_

14


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